


Good Morning

by jmcats



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Club AU, M/M, Multi, birthday fic, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:50:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmcats/pseuds/jmcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the last weekend before the start of University. Oh, and Liam's birthday.  Leave it up to Liam’s best mate Louis to drag them all off to London for “a weekend you’ll never forget.” Liam doesn’t think Louis’ plans ever included meeting Zayn Malik… the one person who makes Liam’s birthday anything but what he planned it to be</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Strong use of foul language and it's quite explicit at parts. Oh, and excessive use of song lyrics because, honestly, music drives some of my stories. Sorry.
> 
> Title taken from "Watch the Sun Come Up" by Example
> 
> I don't know much about London or the night life there, so please be forgiving if it comes off a bit inaccurate. This story was painstaking for me because I wasn't sure if I was getting it right and I didn't want to drag everything out. Forgive me if it's not the usual but this idea got a hold of me and I couldn't let it go even when I was at my most low writing it. Hopefully it's enjoyable on some level.
> 
> Also, I have to sincerely thank [scottmcniceass](http://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/pseuds/scottmcniceass) and [unfortunate17](http://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunate17/pseuds/unfortunate17) for reading some of this, encouraging me, and being all around inspirations for me when it comes to writing. These two girls really helped me get this done (So if it sucks, blame me; if it's great, thank them).

“Cheers to the women we love and the blowjobs they give!  Let’s make tonight beautiful.”

It always starts out this way – a toast from Louis with words so crass and shot glasses held up high that Liam’s quite certain this is going to be the best weekend of his life.  Or the worst; it always differs whenever Louis Tomlinson is involved.  In fact, _everything_ plays a factor whenever Louis is involved.

Liam’s used to it, the mild concern that truly turns into something massive after an hour or so.  He’s known Louis since he was three and Louis was a pretentious five year old, demanding Liam be his best mate because, well, “You don’t have many choices.  In fact, I’m certain I’m all you’ve got.”  That was the way Louis put it and, if he was smarter, he would’ve at least tried to find those other available options because, sometimes, Louis was more trouble than he was helpful.  He was all bright blue eyes, silky brown hair slicked back, hands on his hips with Tom’s on his feet, trousers rolled above his ankles and shirts too colorful for a box of Crayola’s.  And he was loud, unabashed, quite honest when it stung the most, and maddeningly forceful once he put his mind to something.  But he had his moments, like this weekend when he’s drug Liam clear out of Wolverhampton all the way to London to celebrate his birthday.

“Cheers to that lads,” Niall crows, downing his shot of something clear and so strong that Liam’s eyes water when he sniffs at it.

Niall’s not much help when it comes to Louis.  In fact, Liam thinks there should be some sort of law put in place that kept the two separate because Niall was too happy and free to know better than to go along with everything Louis suggests.  And he does, wide smiles, thick Irish accent when he’s drunk enough and crinkly sapphire eyes that light up even when the room is pitch black.  He’d met Niall through Louis, during Tenth Year and Niall had just moved with his dad from Ireland, all braces, sun-bleached hair and an awkward goofiness Liam enjoyed, unless it was a combination of Louis and Niall, to which Liam knew he’d be explaining something horrible to his parents later on.  He thinks sometimes Niall knows Louis’ ideas are bad, _incredibly_ bad, but he still goes along with them because why not?  He’s too carefree to know the meaning of the word “no,” even though Liam’s desperately tried to give him the proper definition: Louis fucking Tomlinson.

“Someone does have the number to the nearest hospital, right?” Liam asks, eyebrows raised and Niall’s cackling as Louis flips him off, lips pursed sideways.

“Come on Liam,” Harry advises, saluting Liam with his still filled shot glass, liquid spilling out and over his long fingers because Louis always over pours alcohol – it’s like second nature.  “If you make it through the weekend, then you didn’t truly have a good birthday.”

Louis grins at Harry, bright and adoring in that obnoxiously friendly way that only exists between Harry and Louis because, even though Liam considers Louis his best mate, sometimes he wonders has time replaced him by Harry who’s all smiles, almost as carefree as Niall with the kind of cheekiness that makes anyone want to be his friend.  Or simply fall for his charm, whichever came first.

Liam’s lips tilt a little upside down, still eyeing his shot glass as Harry tips his head back and swallows his own, so damn eye-catching when he grins at Liam.

Liam’s nothing like Harry.  Harry’s all soft curls, large and enticing emerald eyes, wide smile over cherry lips with just one dimple that makes him obsessively cuter than he should be.  Liam’s nearly buzzed off hair except for the part at the top which is kind of long, thicker, big brown eyes, cheeks a little too chubby, thick eyebrows, a nose his mum swears is cute but he’s just grown into it and he likes his smile, not as much as Harry’s, but his lips are pinkish, sometimes just that right shade of red but usually chapped from absentmindedly chewing on the bottom one too often.

Harry’s tall, Liam too, but Harry has that slenderness that makes him look amazing in blazers or jumpers with pocket squares, too tight jeans and those casual shoes Liam never looked good in.  Liam’s wide shoulders, but he’s fit because all of those years of running in junior school and he works out as much as possible.  He thinks it’s because once he wanted to be a P.E. teacher and he can still see Coach Cowell with his hands rubbing his chest in that damn tight, black rayon shirt with the slightest bit of thickness around his middle whenever he skipped his diet in favor of chocolates, blowing the whistle carelessly whenever they were playing rugby.  He hated that image, upper lip still curling at the thought.

And Harry’s hands are large, thin fingers unlike Liam’s whose are thick and he thinks Harry has a way with those hands, using them on one or more female or male because Harry’s not particular when it comes to sexuality.  Matter of fact, he’s quite oblivious about it when he says, “Doesn’t matter to me.  I’m a lover of _people_ , not _types_.”  And Liam believes him, wishes he could be that open though most of his closest mates know he’s not particular most days either though he’s only had one solid boyfriend when he was sixteen and unsure of how to handle things like that.  That was when Louis was the kind of friend Liam needed – crying on Louis’ shoulder for hours because that relationship lasted a month before the guy, Aiden, decided he didn’t like the idea of being categorized and slept with a Uni girl during spring break.  Louis got Liam sloshed that weekend, head in the toilet most of Sunday morning, but he’d forgotten about how bad it hurt on Monday, Louis grinning at him with his feet kicked up on the dash of his faded old BMW with Liam singing along to the radio as if it all never happened.

Louis’ eyeing him, eyebrows pulled together with narrowed blue eyes that are daring Liam to do anything except swallow the shot still pinched between his fingers.  Liam sighs, he knows better, before tossing the liquor back and it burns, shit, it _singes_ its way down Liam’s throat.  He feels it strip him raw, his chest heating up and it’s not bad as the shit Niall buys that’s far too cheap and tastes like rubbing alcohol but Liam’s eyes are still wet at the corners, fist thumping his chest as he tries to recover.  Louis’ grinning at him when he focuses his eyes, head nodding and, sod off Tomlinson, is all he thinks as he tries to swallow but fails.

Liam sighs, teeth fitting against his bottom lip as he plops down onto the hotel bed, soft linen braced against his palms as he leans back.  He takes in the room, far too posh and expensive for his own tastes but he can’t deny when Louis offered to bring them all to London for Liam’s birthday, it sounded like something out of a movie where either Liam was going to wake up hung-over or sporting a silly orange jumpsuit in a jail cell.

Louis’ benefited tremendously from that trust fund his parents gave him when he turned eighteen, not that he always flaunted the luxuries of coming from a well-to-do family.  He was modest, well as much as Louis could be, and it’s only moments like this one when they’re staying in a hotel that would probably turn their nose up at Liam if he ever approached the front desk to ask for a room.  And he thinks he caught the bell hop giving each of them, except Louis, funny looks when he gathered up their bags and brought them to their rooms.  Harry snorted at that, Niall doing his best to impersonate the bellhop behind his back but Liam was more reserved, always has been.

The room is nice with thick gold curtains over the large window that gave a perfect view of the city, something he’s sure Louis demanded.  There’s enough space where it doesn’t feel too cramped with the four of them in it, flat screen hanging on the wall and the bathroom is just as lush with its gigantic bathtub and shower stall, folded white towels everywhere with lights bright enough to illuminate half the city.

The bed is soft, a way too thick, deep wine-red and gold-trimmed duvet covering it and the white sheets beneath feel like silk when Liam runs his fingers over them.  Liam could get lost in the chunkiness of the pillows, head sliding right through to the center and they even have those fancy mints his mum always raves about even though Liam’s quite certain she and his father have never been able to afford a room this grand before.

“You lads ready for a good time?” Louis asks loudly, fixing his suspenders in the long mirror on one of the walls, grinning at himself.

“When do we eat?” Niall inquires with a loud sigh, falling back on the bed behind Liam.

Liam grins down at him, ruffling his blonde hair until they’re both fighting and pushing at each other.

“Think Horan needs some nosh,” Harry notes, fixing himself into the chair next to the mirror, legs crossing and there’s a smile slipping over his lips when Louis wrinkles his nose.

“He always wants nosh,” Louis groans, toying with loose strands of his hair.

“And you’re always an arse.  So when do we eat?”

Louis rolls his eyes but Liam spots the curve of his lips and there’s a smile meeting Liam in the reflection of the mirror.

“This weekend is not about your stomach, Horan.  It’s about our dear friend Liam’s birthday, which we are celebrating tonight,” Louis announces, spinning around and Liam’s eyes go a little wide when that grin on Louis’ lips grows.

“It’s not ‘til Monday,” Liam mumbles, lowering his eyes.

“And that means absolutely nothing tonight,” Louis declares, edging past Liam to grab that bottle of liquor and his shot glass.

“I don’t know how sane your decision making is going to be if you get completely pissed before we go anywhere,” Liam notes, watching Louis carefully as he slurps down another shot.

“Rubbish,” Louis says with a barking laugh.

“Hardly,” Liam sighs out, feels Niall pinching at his forearm.

“He’s quite mental, sober or absolutely shitfaced,” Niall declares, grinning up at Liam and Liam catches Harry nodding along, gleefully.  Liam rolls his eyes, nods as well because it’s true.

“You lot are lucky I’ve got a game tomorrow, otherwise I’d certainly get completely smashed dealing with you all,” Louis says with a groan, slapping at Harry’s leg until Harry uncrosses it and Louis’ falling into his lap with a giggle, Harry’s eyes rolling as he secures fingers into Louis’ hip to hold him in place.

Louis’ been playing football since they were tall enough to kick the ball around the pitch.  Liam did too except, somewhere around Ninth Year, Louis got good; really good.  He got a scholarship to Chelsea and Liam smiles every time Louis promises to petition to West Bromwich Albion once he’s done with Uni because it was Liam’s dream, when he was in Sixth Year and thought that he could do something that grand.  He thinks about it sometimes, he and Louis running around the pitch in their navy blue and white with socks pulled up to their knees and he wonders if someday Louis really will keep that promise.

“Now then we should hurry up because,” Louis pulls his out pocketed phone, shifting in Harry’s lap which looks terribly uncomfortable but Harry’s not complaining, never does, “I promised El we wouldn’t be late to the club later.  I’m in no mood for a serious chat with my girlfriend tonight about you lot never being on time.”

“Isn’t that _you_ who’s never on time?” Niall wonders, rolling to his stomach to eye Louis.

Louis scoffs, eyes rolling.  “Would you like to foot the bill for your own room this weekend Horan?”

Niall snickers.  “You wouldn’t dare.  I’ve got too much shit on you Tommo.”

Louis’ eyes widen as if to say “you wouldn’t dare” but Niall’s nodding, grinning menacingly and Louis’ mouth snaps shut before he can say anything else.

“Dinner, yeah?” Liam suggests, stretching before pushing himself off the bed.

“Oh if we must,” Louis sighs, glancing over his shoulder at Harry who’s too busy playing FIFA on his PSP to pay any of them attention.  Louis’ lips fit into a small frown, eyes flitting when Harry looks up curiously.  “Though I was quite comfortable here.”

Liam watches the speckling of pink smooth against Harry’s cheeks, those green eyes impossibly large and Louis gives a small shrug before smirking, easing himself from Harry’s lap.

“Cheers to grub,” Niall says with a howl and Liam’s barely noticed Niall pouring himself another shout but when he swallows it back, exhaling hard with shiny blue eyes and cheeks afire with red, Liam knows he’s in for more trouble than he signed up for.

Liam knows this isn’t such a good idea anymore.

Louis’ giggling, throwing an arm around Niall’s shoulders and they’re all tickling fingers, thunderous laughter, mock fists, and screwing with each other’s hair as they tumble out the door of Liam’s room.  Liam takes a glance to his side, watches Harry stand and it’s all _sweep-sweep-swipe_ as he fixes his curls, grinning at Liam.

“You know those two are going to drive us mad, yeah?” Harry asks, fixes his t-shirt with the black and white photo of Jimi Hendrix on it, his lengthy necklaces clinking against each other underneath.

Liam nods slowly.  “Are you ever going to tell him?”

Harry fixes his eyes on Liam, narrowing them curiously.  “Tell who what?”

Liam sighs, dragging fingers through pieces of his hair.  “Come on Haz.  You know _who_.”

Harry shakes his head, balks at Liam.  “No.”

“Why?”

“Fucking bullshit is what it is Liam, you know that.  I don’t feel that way about him,” Harry hisses, peeking past Liam and Liam knows it’s to make sure no one hears him, to make sure Louis’ not in the doorway watching them.

“It’s okay, mate, really.  You never know if Lou might feel the same,” Liam says, offering a small shrug that Harry rolls his eyes at.

“He has a _girlfriend_ , Liam.  A quite lovely girl that you’ve met, correct?  Eleanor,” Harry insists but Liam catches the sting in Harry’s voice when he says her name like it kills him in a desperately silent sort of way.

“Eleanor,” Liam repeats, nodding.

He’s known her ever since Louis first climbed into his window that night, professing his admiration for some girl he met at a Uni party who is, by Louis’ words, “The most incredible person ever.  So nice, unlike me.  Funny, like me, but in a different way.  And, Li, she’s absolutely the kind of girl my parents would _love_ which is kind of fantastically scary since I never date _anyone_ my parents might love.”  And Liam likes her, honestly does, but he’s watched the way Harry’s looked at Louis for far too long now.  He’s seen the way Harry is madly in love with the way Louis smiles, laughing at all his jokes as if it’s some sort of private conversation between the two and, sometimes, when Liam watches Louis, he thinks it is.  The way Louis’ eyes light up when Harry inches an arm around his shoulders, takes a piss at Louis’ hair while grinning and they’re falling into whispers like, just maybe, this could’ve been something more if Eleanor had never come along.

“Besides, you’re his best mate.  You’d know if he fancied me in the least bit,” Harry says, his voice dragging, “So don’t bother Liam.”

Liam nods slowly, lips pressed together because the look he gets from Harry tells him to.  He follows Harry out the door, rubbing his fingers over the back of his neck, and he’s quite certain that, despite what Louis may have planned, this would definitely be a memorable birthday regardless.

**

It’s a small café Louis yanks them into, one not too far from the hotel and away from the crowded, messy streets of London.  It’s the last week of August, the air still thick with the haze of summer but Liam can feel the air getting a little cooler and he knows September is a little too close for comfort.  He knows it’s the last two weeks before he heads off to University and, as much as he tries, he knows that’s where life changes.  That’s where they’ll grow apart; Louis with his football, Harry probably travelling the world because, as brilliant as he is, one University won’t be enough to leave him content.  He doesn’t know about Niall, never has tried to piece that part of the puzzle together because he loves how Niall is one decision at a time, milestone by milestone rather than minute by minute like Liam is.

And Liam?  He’s still not sure though his father pressures him every day to decide what he’ll do with his life.  Some days, it’s a firefighter.  Other days, it’s a teacher.  Now?  He sighs out an answer more often than not because, honestly, he doesn’t know.  And he’s decided this weekend isn’t exactly the ideal setting to put a permanent path on the road he’ll be walking.

Liam loves the pulse of London, the lights, the cars, the constant flow of people who are almost shoulder-to-shoulder with a bundled excitement that can’t be read in their expressions but it’s felt in every step they take through the streets.  It’s thudding in his mind the moment his feet hit the pavement, Harry smiling behind him with Niall and Louis nearly dancing into the busy streets, pointing at double decker buses and women dressed as if the world revolved around every click of their heels along the concrete.  Liam breathes it in, tainted city air, and he almost shoves Louis away when he hooks his arm with Liam’s to pull him in a direction opposite of the one Liam wants to move in.  But he follows, head high, and everything still throbs against his senses – _We come running. Never go where we belong. Echoes in the dead of dawn_ – as he watches the lights turn amber and brilliant ivory everywhere.

The café’s mostly quiet, only a few other patrons inside and it’s that quaint sort of establishment Liam expects back in Wolverhampton, not in the roar of London.  There’s square tables everywhere, only a few small booths lining one of the walls.  There’s fake flowers in small vases on every table, salt and pepper shakers crowding them and wooden chairs that are barely finished with gloss, something old fashioned like the kitchen at his parents’ home.  There’s a chalkboard hanging behind the till with specials and words written in a language Liam’s never read before but everything looks beautiful in a way he’s unprepared for.  Even the sign outside is nothing fancy, _Khandaan_ in big block, metal letters against a black backdrop, but it’s enough to make Liam feel more at home against the electricity of the city.

Liam watches with amusement as a small girl dashes up to them the moment they crowd through the small door.  Her brown hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail, big and bright blue eyes wide as she looks on them with quirked lips.  Her skin is ivory-gold.  She throws a hand on her hips, head cocking to the side like she owns every piece of the café with her too big Justin Bieber shirt on and almost Cherub-like cheeks pushed up with a grin.

“Hi, welcome, come in.  Sit down.  Can I help you?” she spouts off and Liam’s a little unprepared, Harry giggling while Louis squints his eyes at her.

“How old are you?” Louis asks, doubt running through his voice.

“Old enough to seat you,” she boasts, arms folding over her chest and Louis mimics her, foot tapping.

“Safaa!”

Liam watches the girl cringe, slowly looking over her shoulder.

“Waliyha, didn’t I tell you to keep her in the back until she finished her homework?” a woman asks, quick approaching as the smaller girl, Safaa, giggles behind her hand.

“The brat got loose,” comes a sigh and Liam peeks up to where a slightly older girl appears behind the counter, choppy brown hair pulled into a slightly more put together ponytail with chocolate eyes, lips pulled into a sneer with an eyebrow arched.  She carries as much sass as Safaa but in a more controlled manner with the way she smiles, works those eyebrows so conveniently.  She’s swiping through her phone, leaning on the counter with little interest until her eyes fall on Harry and Liam can taste the affection when she smiles, leaning over a little more and Liam knows she’s far too young for Harry but, damn it all, she’s still trying.

“I’m so sorry.  Please forgive my daughter.  She seems to think she works here like her sisters,” the older woman says, bent over to wrap her arms around her daughter, dragging Safaa backward as Safaa pouts.

“I do,” Safaa groans.

“To the back Saf.  Now,” her mother demands and Safaa scuffs her feet along the smooth tile floor before stomping away.

“Brat,” Waliyha coos lowly, lips twisting sideways when her mother glares at her.

“Loser,” Safaa calls back, tongue stuck out as she flees behind two swinging doors before her mother can scold her.

“I swear, she can be such a pain in my –“

“Don’t you even Waliyha,” her mother warns, her tone stern and Waliyha’s sighing, eyes turning back to Harry.  Harry grins smugly and Liam watches the blush feather her cheeks.

“I swear her brother is such an influence on her,” comes a sigh before the older woman is extending a hand, one that Louis gladly takes to shake.  “I apologize.  I’m Tricia.  My husband and I own this lovely little café with our family.  Would you like to sit for dinner?”

Louis nods quickly, brimming smile on his lips.  “Brought my mates in for this delicious food you serve here.”

“Oh, you’ve been here before?” Tricia asks, lowering her hand with a soft smile.  It’s in her cheeks, defined and sculpted, and those caring eyes, crinkled a little more at the edges when she smiles; Safaa and Waliyha are clearly every bit her daughters.

“Once.  With my girlfriend,” Liam snorts when Louis says that because, for some reason, it always feels so out of place coming out of Louis’ mouth, “Your husband was so wonderful to us,” Louis says, his voice booming and Liam expects nothing less.

Tricia nods, pride riffing in her eyes.  “Yaser is so good with our customers.”

“About that grub,” Niall says suddenly and Louis’ sighing while Harry swoops an arm around Louis’ shoulders, head shaking.

“Yes, let us feed the leprechaun something proper before he considers eating one of us,” Louis grumbles, edging his arm around Harry’s back and Liam eyes the way his fingers play along Harry’s hip freely, neither paying attention.

“I’d eat Harry first,” Niall says with a shrug, wide grin on his lips when Harry glares at him.  “You’re the leanest.  I have to watch my figure.”

Harry rolls his eyes and Tricia’s laughing behind one of her hands, taking a small step back before saying, “Well come then.  Let me get a table together for you all.”

Liam’s not truly paying attention to it all, the way Louis keeps going on and on about the hanger steak but he’s mostly talking to Harry with his fingers tracing up the back of Harry’s hand while Harry hangs on his every word, brow coming together when he finds Liam’s eyes on them, eyes dropping away quickly and shuffling in his seat.  Niall’s ordering half the menu, all bangers and mash with a side of chips, some peas, and he manages to order both a chocolate sundae, heavy on the cream, along with the cherry cobbler, again, heavy on the cream.  And Tricia’s eldest daughter, Doniya, who has the thickness in her face like Safaa but the sideways smile that Waliyha showcases, snickers at them while taking orders a few tables down.  She’s combing her chunky brown hair back, eyebrow arching over small brown eyes with a freshly pressed white button-down, with the top button undone, clinging to her and her skin is that smooth ivory-caramel like her sisters.

Liam’s leaning back in his chair, smile folding over his lips and he’s not really sure what to order from the menu; all of the items hand-written in fancy script laced with gold accents that, once more, gives the place a homely feel.  Tricia is dotting over Louis, still giggling as she scribbles down a few more items Niall rattles off, Doniya sidling up to tease him when a glass of Coke is eased in front of him.  Liam glances up and there’s some sort of heavy dizzying feeling hitting him for a moment when he looks on the guy, young like Liam, glancing down on him with a careless shape to his half-bitten smile.

It starts with the tall hair, pulled messily into a quiff, and it’s a shadowy black against sunglow skin.  There’s neat eyebrows and long lashes that are curled and thick enough to line those eyes like mascara.  The eyes are brown, no, _gold_ , definitely gold like honey drizzled over chocolate.  There’s a sharpness to his jaw, cheeks defined and a smattering of scruff along his jaw and chin, just above his upper lip as well.  And those lips, the bottom one full and they’re pink, a little chapped, but they glide from a pout to a grin like water slipping over the sand.

He’s small, not in height, but wiry with a definition that draws attention.  The sleeves of his button-down are rolled up to his elbows and the first tattoo Liam notices is the microphone coiling around his forearm with the black ink splashing upward from his wrist.  When he moves to place Harry’s water in front of him, Liam can see the crossed fingers etched underneath his forearm and the yin-yang inked onto his inner wrist on the other arm.  The shirt is a thin, white material and, when Liam looks hard enough, he can see more artwork beneath it, not that he’s looking that hard because eyes fall on him and he looks away quickly, heat burning his cheeks as he exhales lowly.  He wonders if he’s imaging that grin he feels bearing down on him.

“Oh Zayn, can you please take care of tables four and five while I handle these wonderful lads?” Tricia requests and Liam glances up, watches teeth sink over a bottom lip with a small nod.

When he turns, Liam spots the cigarette tucked behind his ear and those trousers are a little tight, pulling just on the curve of his ass, again, not that Liam was looking.  But the thing is that Liam _is_ looking, thinking about some song Harry had played in the car ride from the airport to the hotel – _Making a club hit, we can go dancing.  We don’t give a shit what it’s about; far too young to kill_ – and Liam lifts his eyes quickly because Zayn’s looking over his shoulder with an arched eyebrow and pushed together lips.  Liam wants to duck out of the café, forget this whole dinner idea, because Zayn won’t stop glaring at him now as he pretends to listen to whatever the customers are asking for a few tables down.

He’s not even sure why he bothered to look at Zayn anyway.  He’s in a relationship, well, he thinks he still is but he’s not quite in the mood to define what he and Danielle were doing anymore.  And he’s not interested in finding a one off thing in London, not with some guy who’s got tattoos, smokes, carries himself with some sort of _way-too-cool_ manner that Liam is not the least bit attracted to.  He likes nice boys, take-home-to-mum boys who laugh at all of his stupid jokes even though Liam himself knows they’re not very funny, and ones that don’t mind that he’s sort of a geek who’s watched _Batman Begins_ no less than twenty-six times in his life and could go on and on about music for hours without missing a beat.

And Zayn doesn’t look like he’d be interested in any of those things.

“See something like you mate?” Harry whispers to him and Liam jumps a little, head snapping in Harry’s direction as the other leans into Liam, grinning.

“No,” Liam snaps back, his voice low and hissing.  “Quit being daft.”

Harry chuckles, pulls back but he’s wagging his eyebrow and jerking his head in the direction Liam’s most certain Zayn is still standing in.  He puckers his lips, winks at Liam before turning back to Louis who’s lost in a grand tale for Tricia that has her blushing and covering half her face with embarrassment.  Liam knows that feeling oh too well when it involves Louis.

But maybe Harry’s a tiny bit right because, despite all of Liam’s mind protesting otherwise, his eyes scan the café a little later when Louis is passing a bottle of red wine all around and Harry and Niall’s laughter is way too past this side of being intoxicated.  He finds Zayn behind the counter in the same spot Waliyha was in earlier.  His head is down, leaning over the counter and he’s reading something that Liam can’t make out but he’s too focused on the way Zayn’s eyelashes curl against his cheeks like the shadows of the night circling pieces of the moon.  And he’s chewing his bottom lip again, soft and cautious, with his jaw tense and Liam could probably trace every strip of color and ink in that ‘ZAP!’ tattoo without Zayn noticing.

The tattoo is something right out of a campy comic book that Liam probably would’ve read when he was younger, all smiles and Superman t-shirts that his mum had to drag him out of because he wore it so much the emblem was fading and there were stains all over it.  He didn’t care.  It’s the only pieces of his childhood he wants to remember with fondness.

Liam chews on his thumbnail and when Zayn leans back some, lifting the book, Liam gasps without thinking.  He feels Zayn’s eyes lifting but he’s too busy looking at the book in Zayn’s hands – _The Killing Joke_ , which just happens to be one of Liam’s favorite Batman novels and when the fuck did this become so lopsided? – to pay him much attention.  But those eyes, gold framing brown, are on him and they’re narrowed in an annoyed fashion.  Liam swallows, reaches for his Coke and nearly knocks it over but Harry’s quick with his hand, steadying the glass and Liam’s heart is pounding like ten rows of marching drums to really care that Harry’s giving him a haughty grin.

When Zayn closes the book, hands pressing flat to the surface of the counter while leaning forward and staring at Liam, Liam feels his face pinch and his lips draw into a frown.  It’s just that easy that Liam goes from being fascinated by the tattoos and thought-provoking quietness and fondness for comics to simply annoyed by the way Zayn’s lips curl into a grin and his eyes feel cold instead of the warmness that Liam admires in most guys.  And Zayn’s shaking his head, pulling that cigarette from behind his ear and slipping it between his lips, letting it dangle as he continues to stare at Liam, leaving Liam’s brow furrowed and his eyes squinted in irritation.

Zayn chuckles, low and throaty, and sort of haunting, as he slides over the counter and eases past his mum toward the back.  Liam catches the way Tricia scolds her son in a hissing tone for smoking but he merely waves her off with an apologetic smile, lips easing back into that sneer when his eyes fall on Liam again and Liam can’t do anything but slouch down into his chair.  When Zayn is gone behind those swinging doors, Liam drags his hand down his face and wonders why he even bothered looking at those doors again to see if Zayn was peeking his head through with a smile.  He pushes at the food on his plate, ignoring the curious look he gets from Harry, and pretends to give a shit about whatever Louis’ prattling on about because he’s not in the mood to eat, let alone think about boys who smoke and are quite fantastic at making him feel inferior in less than ten seconds flat.

**

The club is one of those inconspicuous places that looks dingy and rundown from the outside, but its electricity burning through his system once he gets inside.  Louis was all smiles when he marched in, bopping to his own beat – _I hear your heartbeat to the beat of the drums. Oh, what a shame that you came here with someone_ – and Harry’s following close behind as if he actually is afraid of someone leaping out of a dark corner and grabbing them.  Niall’s got an arm slung around Liam’s shoulders, laughing and buzzing from a little too much wine and Liam can’t help the way it all makes him grin, forget that silly café with that boy, _Zayn_ , fixing his eyes on Liam like he’s something he could ruin with just his lips.  Though, really, Liam was certain Zayn probably could.

There’s a pulse to the club, thudding music rattling the walls and it’s way too crowded on the dance floor but Liam smiles down on it all from the cold, steel rail he’s gripping.  He figures it used to be some sort of warehouse, the way its all large expanse of space with no end in sight and it’s dark except for the spiraling spotlights of varied colors dancing off a silly disco ball, strobe lights that flicker like an atomic bomb, blue lights overhead coating the club in midnight crispness and those silly lasers Liam only sees in those way too expensive music videos where the budget was probably more than twice the amount of money he’s made his entire life.

There’s a throb against his skin as he follows Niall and Louis down the steps, Harry pinching his elbow as he trails behind and Liam smirks, watching bodies move like a sea of limbs and he can taste the smoke in the air, letting out a cough because that wasn’t just the pungent scent of nicotine filling his lungs.  But the room is glowing with a fever and his lips tilt higher – _Let’s make the most of the night like we’re gonna die young_.

“Bar,” Louis calls out with his hands cupped over his mouth so Liam can hear him.

Liam nods, lets Louis reach back to snatch his hand and they’re moving in a huddle through a sea of dancing bodies, trying not to stumble but it’s hard when someone grinds up on him from the left while pissed girls trip over themselves on his right.  He thinks Harry panics a little, feels an arm circle around his waist and he has to use all of his strength to stay upright when Louis yanks on him harder to get through a group of dancing girls who are singing loudly to the rush of the music – _It’s pretty obvious that you’ve got a crush. That magic in your pants, it’s making me blush_ – and they’re reaching for Louis but Harry’s knocking their hands away just as quick and Liam glances over his shoulder with a raised brow, watches the way Harry fixes his face into a scowl before giving Liam a light shove forward.

“Shots,” Niall begs, stumbling up to the bar as Louis leans over it toward an attractive blue-eyed girl who’s hair is bright purple, black hat tipped back on her head with lips stained in glittery gloss and lashes far too long to be real unless her name was Zayn and, _fuck_ , where did _that_ come from Liam?

“What can I get you gents?” she asks, lips upturned into a smile that Liam has to admit he gravitates toward immediately.

“Tequila,” Louis says first.

“Vodka,” Harry counters, Louis groaning before nodding.  Harry knows tequila does wicked things to Louis and Liam’s positive none of them would know their way back to the main road without Louis being somewhat sober.

“Coke,” Liam says and there’s glares shot at him from three pairs of eyes.

“Your name,” Niall adds, winks and smiles that aren’t subtle or sleek in the least bit.  Niall’s never been good with flirting or anything of the sort, but his grin has won him enough dates and sexual conquests to look slightly better than his track record would call for.

“What kind babe?” she asks Harry before turning slightly to arch an eyebrow at Niall.  “Perrie,” she says, lips puckered and pursed all at once and Niall’s grinning with bright eyes that shine even in the scattered darkness of the club.

“Uhm, Three Olives?” Harry asks and Liam’s certain if it had been Louis, he would’ve demanded it, but Harry’s polite, unlike Louis.

“Smart choice,” Perrie grins, reaching back behind the bar and she’s grabbing two bottles while lining up four shot glasses.  The first three are filled before she caps a bottle and pours another liquor into the fourth one.  She pulls a chilled beer mug from beneath the bar, probably locked away in a mini fridge before spraying it half-full with Coke.

Perrie slides the first three shots to Harry, Niall, and Louis before easing the Coke glass to Liam with the final shot sitting to the side.  She smirks, lashes batting as Liam eyes her.

“Take the shot and drop it in the Coke,” Perrie orders, leaning on the bar.  “Then chug.”

Harry’s eyes are wide long before Liam’s, Louis grinning from the side of Harry.  Niall holds his shot up in salute, a large smile crinkling his nose and he’s barking out a laugh as Liam rims the shot glass with his index finger, thoughtful.  He chances a glance back to Perrie who’s eyeing him with a straight expression, eyes lowering in anticipation and Louis’ giggling now, the heat of the club making Liam’s skin a little too warm and he’s sighing before lifting his shot.

“Cheers to the birthday bloke,” Louis cheers, downing his shot before slamming his glass against the bar with a laugh.

Harry follows, Niall right after and Perrie’s leaning in closer, whispering, “Don’t worry.  It’ll taste great.”

Liam doesn’t know why but he trusts her.  He knows he shouldn’t because there’s something troublesome about those blue eyes, the way her smile is curvy and her cheeks are high but he drops the shot into the glass anyway, lifting it quickly and the moment the fizzle hits his tongue, his eyes close with the sting.  It’s not awful, not bad really, the way the Coke slides along with the alcohol and it’s a sweet, carbonated root beer flavor that Liam guzzles down as swiftly as he can.

Niall’s whistling when Liam finishes, lowering the glass and using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.  He feels lightheaded almost immediately but it buzzes against every nerve inside of him, Harry snickering while Louis pumps a fist in the air.  Perrie’s smile hasn’t faded, scooping up the dirty glasses and winking at Liam.

“Another round,” Louis calls out as Harry drops a few quid on the bar, nodding.  Perrie scoops up the money, drops it into the till before dropping four more shot glasses onto the bar.

Liam chews down on his bottom lip, the throb of the music and the streaming lights already leaving him a little dizzy but his skin is alive, the liquor still burning in his stomach, and all of his senses are alive as Niall bobs his head along to the bass – _Yeah we danced on tabletops, and we took too many shots. Think we kissed, but I forgot_ – and Louis’ grinning into Harry’s shoulder, reaching out for the shot glass Perrie slides his way.

“I’ve got this round babe,” Louis says a little too affectionately, fingers tangling themselves into Harry’s curls as he leans on him, pulling out his wallet before Harry can finish fishing his out.  There’s a tucked blush that Liam can barely see touching Harry’s cheeks but he spots the way Harry’s cheeks push upward and he doesn’t do anything to yank Louis’ fingers from his hair.

“She’s hot,” Niall exhales out, gasping after swallowing back his shot.

Liam sniffs at his, Stoli this time, and frowns a bit before slowly huffing it down, stomach bubbling and his heart is in his ears now.  His tongue is heavy, a bit numb and he feels the tears prickling at his eyes as he tries to take it all in.

“She’s got nothing on this one though,” Louis grins out and Liam turns around slowly, rolls his eyes because Louis always has a thing for theatrics with his arms spread wide and grinning as a small group of girls push through the crowd.

The music pounds like some sort of theme music as Liam watches – _I crashed my car into the bridge; I don’t care.  I love it_ – moving with the edge of snobbery that Liam more than despises but they’re following the one person Liam knows is nothing like the group of girls she chooses to associate with: Eleanor.

She’s wavy brown hair, doe-like brown eyes are a little large like Harry’s but softer with pushed-up cheeks and a plush pink lips that are almost never slick with lipstick or gloss.  Eleanor’s a natural sort of beauty that Liam doesn’t see often but when he does, his heart jumps a little.  Her hair bounces with her walk, flowy white blouse hanging off one shoulder and she’s got sunglasses pushed up on her head, smiling a little when she spots Liam.  He smiles back, can’t help it because of all of the people he’s met in his friends’ lives, she’s the one significant other he’s never shied away from.  It’s something about her appearance that’s anything other than pretentious or bitchy and her jokes are almost far too dirty for even Louis’ taste.  She loves hip hop and fashion and, even when she’s not trying, she’s helplessly silly like Niall.

Liam wonders sometimes if Louis’ parents even like El because there’s no air of self-centeredness about her and she doesn’t try to own the room when she walks in though she does because, somewhere in her life, the world decided she was important enough based on a few things like money, class, and, well, looks.  But she’s so much more without the status and Liam reminds her all the time.

Jesy, Cher, and Amelia follow close behind, exhibiting every bit of that bitchiness that Liam knows Eleanor allows but doesn’t condone.  They crowd around her, some sort of mock Rich Girl Mafia with lipstick and big purses, but Eleanor slides past them into Louis’ arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he snorts and hugs tightly around her.

“Ladies, drinks,” Cher insists, nudging past Harry and Liam to the bar, Jesy and Amelia briskly joining her.

Liam rubs at the back of his neck, alcohol still sizzling in his system as Louis clings to Eleanor.  He leans back to look past them, watches the way Harry’s chin drops and he’s pulling fingers through his curls, trying to style them but really he’s avoiding looking at Louis and Eleanor.  Liam too, but Harry won’t admit that because then they’d have to talk about it, this thing with Louis and Eleanor that Harry was casually okay with because, in the end, he is Louis’ friend.  But it goes a little deeper, never really mentioned until Harry is pleasantly shitfaced and he goes on and on with slurred words to Liam about how wonderful Louis is “once you get to know him,” not that Liam hasn’t known Louis for more years than Harry has but Liam thinks sometimes there’s a connection between Louis and Harry that even he can’t put a finger on.

He wonders sometimes if Louis knows what he does to Harry; those quiet touches, the way they stare at each other and say everything with just their eyes, the way Louis laughs into the crook of Harry’s neck sometimes when something is truly funny, fingers biting into Harry’s chest like he’s never going to let go.  Harry’s decidedly good with men and women alike, usually it’s the eyes or the dimples but he’s certainly talented with his mouth, not in _that_ way because, yeah, Liam doesn’t ever want to know how well Harry is in that department.  But he never lets any of them stick around long enough for it all to mean anything; everyone except Louis who Harry hangs off of sometimes without even knowing it.

Harry’s like a brother, albeit an older one in the sense that he’s mature even though he’s a whole year younger than Liam but he’s protective in ways Liam harbors and cherishes more than any of his other friends.  But still, Liam worries that one day Louis just won’t get it and he’ll have to sweep up the pieces of one Harry Styles.  He doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to handle that.

“Pleasantly pissed yet birthday boy?” Eleanor asks, giving Liam a playful shove that he grins at.

“Not yet,” Niall responds before Liam can, peaking over Liam’s shoulder with a shifty grin on his lips and Eleanor returns the smile, cheeks raising.  Eleanor and Liam were almost as bad of a combination as Louis and Niall, but in a different sort of way.

“Well, here,” Cher groans, inching between them to hold up a purple-colored shot for Liam to examine before pulling it from her fingers, “It’s called a P3 or whatever the bartender named it.  I like you just enough to buy this for you.  Cheers, you prick.”

Cher’s always been standoffish in a way that should be disconcerting but Liam lets it roll off his shoulders.  If there was one person he felt the least threatened by, it’s the petite girl with the growl and tattoos littering her arm because, in some ways, Cher’s just as friendly as Liam when no one’s really looking.

Liam looks over the drink, once, twice, eyes it until he thinks it’ll evaporate without him having to drink it at all.  It’s smells sweet, a quick glance over his shoulder to where Perrie’s grinning at him, her hair almost the same shade as the shot she’s made him.  He already has a nice buzz, nothing too lasting but it’s just enough that his fingers tingle and there’s that throbbing in his temples, right on his forehead that he knows either he’s going to feel every bit of this in the morning or he’s going to have a splendid night.  He wouldn’t mind if it was both and his tongue itches a little at the thought of taking the shot down with one gulp.

“Don’t drink that.”

Liam’s brow raises when he hears the warning, mouth agape as a hand falls over the top of the drink before it reaches Liam’s lips.  There’s an arm sliding around his shoulders, a smaller one, and Liam spots the yin-yang from the corner of his eye before he sees a pair of hazel-like eyes followed by a quirked up grin that Liam tries not to lose his breath over.  He hitches on an inhale, Zayn grinning at him as his fingers slowly cover Liam’s, the skin impossibly hot.  He thinks maybe that it’s the heat of the club but that can’t be it because there aren’t enough bodies pushing up against him and the rest of him that’s not being touched by Zayn feels _cold_ , incredibly cold as if Zayn is the spark that lights everything inside of him.  And, _wait_ , when did that fucking happen?

“I’ll take care of that for you,” Zayn says, accent so different from Harry’s or Louis’ but it’s the kind of sound Liam wants to memorize and hear whispered in his ears, dirty words coated in that sound and Liam shudders as Zayn plucks the shot from his fingers, the heat gone too soon.

“Wait – “

“Trust me,” Zayn insists, smile curling impossibly higher before he tips his head back and throws back the shot, Adam’s apple rippling and that expanse of golden skin burns underneath those dark blue lights, painting Zayn’s skin.

Liam’s brow lowers, eyes narrowing and he tries not to look impressed when Zayn looks on him with that same, unchanged smile as if the liquor does nothing.  He sort of fails, he knows it, but he’s blaming it on the fact that Zayn’s arm is still curled around his shoulders.  In fact, he’s kind of annoyed by that because he doesn’t even know Zayn; not enough for the other man to touch Liam in the slightest.

Still, those long, thin fingers gently, and probably absentmindedly, touching his shoulder soak him in an ease he’s not supposed to feel from a stranger.  His hair is softening some, not standing as tall as it once was and it’s probably from the heat of the club which Liam is starting to feel now, sweat dampening his forehead.  That smile, someone putting a flame to expensive liquor and the result is this beautiful thing that Liam keeps trying to take his eyes off of.  It’s a steady rock and then drop in his stomach, thrumming like that music echoing against the walls – _Tonight I’m getting over you_.

“And who is this lovely piece of eye candy?” Cher asks a little too loudly, Liam cringing when he realizes, yeah, _everyone_ sort of is watching them.

“Off limits,” Louis sings lowly with a grin.

“Who asked you?” Cher sings right back, teeth clenched into a smile.

“Ooh, bitchy,” Louis chimes.  “I like that.”

Cher sticks her tongue out, face contorting before she’s grinning back at Zayn.

“New friend?” Eleanor wonders, smile tilting her lips when Zayn looks on her, his own smirk devilish in ways Liam knows Eleanor should fear but, then again, she’s with Louis.  She let those kinds of fears go a long time ago.

Liam swallows, words bubbling but never coming and he wants to tell them all he knows nothing about Zayn but Zayn’s edging off of him and smirking in that obnoxious way Liam only tolerates from Louis, not Zayn.  Definitely _not_ Zayn.

“It’s something like that,” Zayn finally says, winking at Eleanor before nodding at Cher who’s adjusting her top and batting her lashes far too much if she was going for inconspicuous.  Liam guesses she’s not.

Harry snorts, eases an arm around Liam’s waist as he eases forward.  “I like this guy.”

“So do I,” Cher coos and Zayn’s brow is lifting, smile wavering a little as she crinkles her nose with a giggle.

Liam rolls his eyes with a sigh.  He leans forward, mouth close to Zayn’s ear and he can smell the smoke, but there’s something else lingering there, like fresh apricot and vanilla with a tinge of spearmint that Liam breathes in for seconds before whispering, “Are you stalking me now?”

Zayn snickers, elbows Liam back before spinning around.  “You wish.”

Liam bites at his lower lip, wants to tell Zayn that, no, he actually doesn’t.  He hesitates, blinking at Zayn before Zayn shrugs.

“Actually, I come here all the time to see – “

“Malik, get your arse over here and give me a kiss!” Perrie shouts out and Liam spots the way Zayn’s lips curl at the corners.  Something definitely drops in his stomach this time when Zayn’s eyes flicker with light, turning toward Perrie whose all grins and two shot glasses held up.

“And another player steps onto the field,” Louis says teasingly, his voice low but Liam’s lips twist to the side, pretending that Louis doesn’t exist for a moment as he watches Zayn offer Eleanor and Cher a polite wave before working his way toward the bar.

“He was cute,” Eleanor remarks and Louis throws a hand over his chest in mock hurt, Eleanor rolling her eyes with a smirk.

“That he was,” Harry grins, fingers digging into Liam’s side and Liam breathes out a frustrated sound, wishing Zayn hadn’t swallowed his shot now.

Niall snorts loudly, nearly spills his drink as he grins at Harry.

“Whatever,” Cher growls, turning her eyes on Niall just as quick.  “Horan, dance with me.  Now.  And keep your hands above the waist if you don’t want them severed at the wrists.”

Niall chuckles, taking a long sip from his bottle of beer and Liam doesn’t know where it came from, but then again, he didn’t know anything that happened between that purple shot and Zayn invading every portion of his senses.

Cher’s dragging Niall away by the collar of his shirt but they’re not far enough away for Liam to worry about Niall’s safety.  Harry hangs back by the bar, letting Perrie refill his drink and Liam does everything possible to keep his eyes away from that section because Zayn’s somehow slipped behind the bar and he’s got his arm slung around Perrie’s shoulder, whispering in her ear until she’s pink with blush and giggling incessantly.

Liam settles on watching Eleanor and Louis, the way she dances up against him with her arms thrown around his neck and his hands gently holding her waist like she’s fine china and Liam wonders if she’s the only one that gets that careful side of Louis?  He’s certain she’s not; he’s seen it a few other times when he wasn’t supposed to and he glances over his shoulder to watch Harry for a second, frown splitting his lips when Harry sips slowly at something red and green, probably another Perrie Special, as he glares at them openly.  Eleanor is blind to it all but Liam thinks he sees Louis fall out of rhythm for a few beats, eyes tipping downward with a solemn expression pressing against his face.

The buzz is leaving, he can feel it and he turns to Niall because, yeah, Niall can always get him back to where he needs to be.  He chews down on his bottom lip, tries not to snicker at the way Cher is trying way too hard with all of her hip thrusts and then spinning around to force her ass against Niall’s crotch.  Niall’s not even laughing like he usually would, all red cheeks and lowered eyes.  No, he’s watching Louis and Eleanor too.  He’s got narrowed blue eyes, hiding their joyfulness, and his fingers are digging a little too forcefully into Cher’s skin, lips pursed.  He’s shaking his head a little and it’s a little too obvious like Harry but no one else would really know because it’s _Niall_.  He’s anything other than, well, jealous.  He’s happy and full of laughter and he loves everyone.  Everyone except himself in moments like this because, even if Liam doesn’t say anything, he knows Niall will finally crack in a few days and tell him.

If Liam followed Niall’s gaze, he knows where it’d be: _Eleanor_.  He’s all spectacular smiles and carnival-ride-happiness anytime she steps into the room.  His jokes are a little less chaotic when she’s around, to the point until she’s giggling, hand on Louis’ shoulder but her smile is just for Niall.

It’s not that Liam noticed it at first, he’s quite daft he’ll admit when it comes to these sort of matters.  But it happens, one night when they’re both sitting on the roof of Liam’s car, passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth because Liam can’t breathe dealing with his parents and Niall can’t focus because of something.  And that something turns out to be Eleanor, Liam finds out after the fifth or sixth time Niall takes a swig from the bottle.  It floods from there, the way Niall didn’t mean to fall for her, the way it started when Louis couldn’t really give Eleanor any time in the middle of the season because it was all football, focus, grades, being anything but the boyfriend Eleanor sorted out she wanted.  Niall talks about her lips, her laugh, the way she’s “incredible when she doesn’t have to be” and Liam listens, hiccupping on whiskey and nodding because, honestly, he felt for the kid.  It was absolutely nothing like Niall, but it was and Liam didn’t know anything to say, so he listened.

Niall doesn’t treat Louis any different.  In fact, Liam thinks they’re better friends without Niall saying anything.  It only happens in rare moments, which is unfortunately when Liam wants to get pleasantly drunk for his birthday but Niall’s too busy wrinkling his nose and scrunching his lips as he watches Louis twirl Eleanor around as she giggles helplessly – _The word is on the street and it’s on the news. I’m not gonna teach him how to dance with you._

Liam decides against troubling Niall, sidles up next to Harry at the bar and Harry’s all layered smiles when he looks on Liam, eyes a little lidded and that curve of his smile is not as defined as Liam remembers an hour ago.

Liam slides fingers into Harry’s curls, the younger boy scoffing a little but he doesn’t jerk away, merely takes a few final sips of his drink before easing the glass onto the bar.  His cheeks are a little pinkish, head lolling toward Liam and Liam grins, resting his elbow on Harry’s shoulder.  There’s a silent understanding between the two and Liam knows that look in Harry’s eyes: he needs another drink.

He nods as Harry’s lips fix to say something, Harry sighing out a smile and Liam’s glancing over his shoulder, holding up two fingers when Perrie’s blue eyes fall on him.  He tries not to pay attention to the fact that Zayn’s not there anymore, pretends not to search the rest of the bar for him.  She holds up a bottle, Liam nodding before even know what it is but he’s quite certain Harry’s not going to care.  No, not when Eleanor’s snickering as Louis presses sloppy kisses to her cheek, arms loosely twined around her back.

Perrie eases up to them, smile still parked on her lips and Liam wonders if maybe she gets paid by the smile and not by the hour.  Harry scoops up both drinks as Liam drops a few quid on the counter, Liam’s eyes going impossibly wide as Harry downs the first in one gulp, a low hiss slipping past red lips as he swirls the other one, looking over it.

“That bad, eh?” Liam wonders, drops a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Harry fucking Styles.  That’s who I am.  Who I’ve always been,” Harry says, words a bit dim and pushed together but Liam knows Harry’s not drunk.  Not yet.

Liam nods, giving Harry’s shoulder a small squeeze.  “Yeah.  I love Harry Styles.”

Harry smiles weakly, nods with him.  “Yet, he makes me feel like something else.  Someone else.  And, fuck, Liam I don’t know _why_.”

“Because,” Liam starts, gives a little bite to his bottom lip because the words can’t afford to slide out wrong, “I think that’s what happens when someone gets under your skin.  When someone isn’t here to care _who_ you are.  It’s _what_ you are, to them.”

Harry snorts, takes a small sip off the other shot before passing it to Liam.  He turns his eyes on Liam for the first time and they’re a little red around the rim, pupils blown and his smile tips up to one side.

“And what am I to him?”

Probably everything, Liam thinks but he doesn’t say it.  He merely shrugs, dips his tongue into the shot to taste that sweet sting of top shelf tequila before shutting his eyes tightly and swallowing the entire thing back.  It leaves him a little dizzy, the music stroking his skin.

“You’re one of his best mates,” Liam finally says, gasping for air because tequila without a lime to suck on or salt to lick away the burn just doesn’t seem fair.  “And, without you, he’s just a big kid without a hand to hold.”

Harry nods slowly, finds some sort of humor in it because he laughs full on before jerking his head toward Perrie.  She comes bounding over, throwing her arms around Harry’s neck and tugging him backward into a mock embrace.  Liam raises his brow, runs his eyes over her face and he can tell she’s had a few shots herself, all wicked smiles and large eyes even bigger than they were before.

“What’s your story babe?” Harry asks, half leaning on the bar and he looks a little ridiculous trying to do it but Liam humors him.  “You and the, you know, one with the,” Harry waves his hands around before dragging them through his hair until it stands up, “ _Hair_ snogging on a regular?”

Perrie gives him a look, mild confusion before reality sets in.  “Zayn?”

“Yeah, the walking sex with the tattoos,” Harry says with a laugh, winking at Perrie and Liam wants to vomit, he swears he does.

Perrie lets out a cackle, one that rings in Liam’s ears for far too long.  “Zayn and me?  Gross.  We tried that.  Sex was quite good,” Perrie notes and Liam doesn’t feel his fingers ball into a fist because, no, he doesn’t hate her all at once now.

“Turns out girls like me just don’t mix with him.  He’s like a brother to me, really,” Perrie adds, pulling out two empty mugs and filling them for the guys at the end of the bar howling for her, her eyes rolling the entire time.

“So then the chances of finding your panties in the back pocket of my jeans in the morning are?” Harry asks and he’s been better at this, Liam knows.  It’s probably the liquor or the fact that Liam’s quite certain Harry’s not really trying.

“Slim and probably none,” Perrie replies flatly, clearly unimpressed.  She leans over the counter, tugging her fingers through Harry’s curls a little too forcefully.  “But not because you’re not fuckable, because you definitely are.  I just think tonight I’d prefer see what your blonde friend’s little princess has to offer.”

Liam nearly chokes on his own spit, coughing loudly while Harry’s eyes go wide with a wet smirk, Perrie leaning back and she’s the one winking this time as she scoots off with the two mugs in her hands.  And, fuck, Liam’s pretty sure he needs another shot now and Perrie’s too far away for him to beg for one.

It’s an hour later when Liam is crowded into a booth with Louis, Eleanor, and Niall, Jesy and Amelia watching from the outside of it and he’s not quite sure where Harry has disappeared to, Cher either, not that he really thinks about her.  He’s nursing some deathly sweet, fruity drink Louis’ picked up for him, stirring the ice around and it’s a little too watered down now, not that Liam could even taste the liquor before.

Eleanor is swiping her fingers over her phone incessantly, face pinched and incredulous as Louis just looks around, eyes never settling on anything.  Niall’s sipping a beer that looks flat, in a plastic cup instead of a mug and it’s probably the cheapest thing they have on tap.  He watches blue eyes occasionally falling on Eleanor, drifting away to fall into a conversation with Louis every once in a while because Niall was pretty good at this, way better than Harry is.

“I don’t know where she’s at,” Eleanor sighs, pout forming.  “She shouldn’t be this late.”

“Who?” Liam asks, eyebrow lifting.

Eleanor gapes at him and Louis groans, hand thrown over his eyes the minute Eleanor elbows him.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“Birthday surprise?” Louis offers, hands thrown up defensively.  Eleanor shoots him an annoyed look.

“Tell me?” Liam asks, eyes narrowing at Louis.  Never trust Louis fucking Tomlinson.

“See the thing is,” Louis starts but Liam holds up a finger.

“Tell me,” he demands, his voice thick and Louis knows he could snap him in half without trying, though Louis would put a pretty good fight.

“I invited Danielle,” Louis says quickly, all the words running together but Liam makes out each of them.

“Danielle,” Liam repeats, his jaw a bit clenched.

“Danielle.  You know, your girlfriend, I think.  Not really sure these days but, fuck, who cares right?  Should I get a round of shots for the table?” Louis spouts out so quickly that Eleanor actually repeats it all lowly, piecing it together while Liam slouches into the booth, slurping every piece of liquid through his straw to keep himself from using very unhealthy words with his best mate.  Or, his _former_ best mate because Liam is a lot fonder of Harry and Niall right about now.

“I’m going to the bar,” Liam grumbles, sliding out of the booth and he feels a little clumsy as he tries to gather his bearings.  He throws a look over his shoulder, scowl already forming as he catches Louis trying to move around, hissing, “Stay here Lou.”

He doesn’t bother to let Louis protest, knows Louis will follow him if he wants to because Louis is a stubborn child like that sometimes; always doing things he’s told not to just to test the limits.  He doesn’t feel Louis following him though and he makes it halfway through the crowd of people before everything hits, frozen in place because his feet won’t work and his eyes feel out of focus when he watches her.

She slinks through the crowd, big and curly hair softened into straight hair now.  He hasn’t seen her in a few months, she’s too busy touring London and Glasgow and a few other places with some dance troupe.  But she’s all leopard-print dress against a svelte figure, skin still the right shade of honey with dark eyes and lips pushed into a pout.  She still walks like she’s dancing – _You’re breaking up on me. You kiss me on the phone but I don’t think it reaches_ – and Liam watches her with wide eyes like it’s the last time, but nothing like the first time.

Danielle.

“Louis always picks the most horrid places,” Danielle fusses when she reaches him, pressing a hand to his chest and it feels cold there.  He wishes it didn’t.

“You’re – “

“And where’s El?  I swear, she better not have already ditched me,” she adds, looking around furiously.

Liam sighs lowly, rests a hand on her hip because it’s what he’s been doing naturally for too long.  He barely lets his fingers curl around the shape of her hipbone.

“She’s here,” Liam says, his voice a little strained.  “And so am _I_.”

Danielle gives him a look, eyes a bit weary before she’s grinning, leaning up to press a quick and chaste kiss to his cheek.  “Of course you are.  Sorry.”

Liam nods, wonders if his expression shows his thoughts.  He’s sure it doesn’t; he’s perfected that technique with her.

“You’re in London,” Liam says unevenly, shrugs because he doesn’t even know why he bothers to.

“Of course I am.  Didn’t you get my text about my schedule?” Danielle wonders, looking over his shoulder and she spots Eleanor, waving manically.

Right.  Because that’s how you tell your boyfriend, yeah?  Via text.  There’s not quite as many phone calls, or visits because Danielle honestly hates it back home.  She does everything to avoid it, though she never tells Liam.  He just knows these things, feels it every time he tries to get her out of his flat when she does visit.  Her excuses have gotten blander and blander and Liam wonders if she’s even trying anymore.

“God, this place is shit.  I bet they don’t even have any good drinks,” Danielle whines, running a hand over Liam’s shoulder and it feels like acid.

“They have fantastic drinks actually,” Liam counters, nibbling on his lower lip because she’s not even bothering to look him in the eyes.  “I was about to go get another one.”

“Oh, Liam, don’t get too shitfaced tonight, yeah?  Louis can’t afford for you to get lost in London,” Danielle says with a giggle, finally looking on him and those brown eyes, once such a safe haven, feel like a strange hole in the wall.

You can’t either, he thinks but again his tongue is too heavy in his mouth to say it.  He merely shakes his head, looking over her to the bar.  He can spot Harry there, laughing with Perrie and a grin pulls at his lips.  He wants to be a part of that, somehow, not this.

“Why’d you come?” Liam asks suddenly, eyes falling back on her.

“Because Louis begged me.  And Eleanor sort of invited me too,” Danielle says a little too quickly and Liam catches it in her expression – wrong answer.

“Right,” Liam sighs.

“I mean your birthday isn’t until Monday, Li.  I was going to ring you up, ask you to dinner,” Danielle adds.

“On Monday, yeah?  _On_ my birthday.  That’s when you were going to decide to make plans with me,” Liam snaps, his voice a bit harsh and he doesn’t mean for it to bite that much but it does.

Danielle scrunches her face.  “Li, not now.”

Liam groans, hand finally falling off her hip.  “Yes, not now.  Not ever.”

She runs her fingers down his cheek, his eyes falling back to her.  There’s sympathy, not an apology there and Liam can’t blame her really.  It’s not her fault.  She’s all London and Paris and he’s Wolverhampton.  He’s nothing like she is, not anymore.  She was different, small town girl with those big dreams they all have, but she got a taste and never looked back.  And she couldn’t afford to drag him on, didn’t need to.  She’d do just fine without him and that’s the part that probably guts him the most.  Not that he’s average, ordinary, nothing like her.  It’s that she doesn’t need him but neither of them have said it aloud.

“It’s not working,” Danielle finally says, her voice barely louder than the music – _I’m breaking up with you, you’re breaking up on me_.

Liam nods, fingers tightening into fists.  He’s not angry but he doesn’t want to tempt himself into touching her, remembering things that just didn’t exist anymore.

“I tried, really, I did,” Danielle sighs out.

“I know.  I don’t blame you.”

“And this isn’t how I wanted to do this.  I was gonna chat you up, maybe sit down in a week when I go back home to visit my parents.”

“Yeah.  When I was heading to Uni, right?” Liam wonders, his stomach shifting uncomfortably and the alcohol isn’t really taking the burn away from this like it should.

“It’s just better that way,” Danielle insists, smile pushing on her lips.

Liam bites down on his bottom lip, hard this time, thinks of a million other things she should have been saying.  He shakes his head because, yeah, this weekend is the exact opposite of what Louis had promised on levels he doesn’t even feel like wrapping his mind around.  And her fingers on his face pulse like the backdrop of the music above – _Tonight, here you are. And I know what you’re after. But you’re reading me wrong ‘cause I’m closing this chapter_ – his breath a little caught in his throat as he chokes on words he just can’t say to her.

“There you are,” arms fold around Liam’s neck from behind, his eyes going a bit wide with surprise, glancing downward and he sees ‘ZAP!’ cluttered by other random tattoos before lips are against his ear, loud enough for Danielle to hear, “You can’t disappear for that long.”

Liam swallows thickly, Danielle’s mouth agape and eyes wide like the finale of a fireworks show.  He’s gnawing at his bottom lip, feels Zayn pushed up behind him, Zayn’s chin on Liam’s shoulder and he can feel Zayn’s cheek pushed up against his with a large smile.  He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t really have the chance to because Zayn’s pressing his cheek closer and nearly choking Liam with his arms around Liam’s throat.

“This bloke thinks just because it’s his birthday he can roam around a club without me,” Zayn grins out, eyes directly on Danielle and Liam catches the fire that lights up in her eyes.

“You are…”

“Zayn,” Zayn beams, doesn’t bother reaching out to shake her hand.  In fact, Liam thinks Zayn squeezes closer to him even though that can’t possibly be any closer because he can feel Zayn’s hipbone digging into the small of his back and that’s definitely Zayn’s crotch on his ass, not that there’s any clear indication other than the fact that Zayn’s pressed incredibly close to him.

“I’m Danielle, his – “

“Oh, _Danielle_.  Right.  He mentioned something about you.  A one off, yeah babe?” Zayn asks, smirk curling his upper lip.

Zayn’s lying.  Liam’s never mentioned her.  In fact, he still hasn’t had a real discussion with Zayn and Liam really wants to know where the fuck this guy even came from because, really, where did he get off?  But Liam can’t deny, the smallest part of him is truly enjoying the way Danielle seems unbalanced, jealous even.  She’s not like that indifferent person Liam’s been sorting through for months now and it’s all because of Zayn.

“I’m far from a – “ Zayn cuts her off again, pushing his fingers through Liam’s hair now.

“Right, I’m sure.  But I promised this guy a really special night, you know, the kind he’ll never forget,” Zayn says and it’s taking everything Liam has not to grin at the lewdness in Zayn’s tone or the way Danielle’s brow is lowered and her nose is wrinkling in anger.

“You did promise,” Liam agrees, goes along with it because he can.

Zayn presses a messy kiss to Liam’s cheek, smiling against his skin and Liam breathes in cigarettes, apricot and vanilla, which smells unbelievably better than that overdone rose petals perfume Danielle’s always wearing.  Liam thinks that’s wrong, indescribably wrong, but his body tingles at the way Zayn keeps his nose to Liam’s cheek, feels the smile against his cheek.

“Oh, fuck off the both of you,” Danielle huffs, spinning on her overpriced heels and she’s not moving like the music anymore.  She’s moving like a hurricane and it just touched down in London.

Zayn’s jerking away as soon as she’s out of sight, hand on Liam’s shoulder as he doubles over with laughter.  Liam can’t help his own grin, wants to shove Zayn away and ask him “What the fuck was that?” but he doesn’t.  It burns with excitement and the way Zayn’s eyes crinkle when he wheezes out a laugh, hand over his chest to control some of it, makes Liam bite down on his bottom lip in the best kind of way.

“Quite the show you put on,” Liam finally says when Zayn rightens himself, hand dragging through his hair and it looks so much softer like Liam could tangle his fingers in it and not feel the stickiness of too much product.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says, hands up in defense.  “You just looked so unhappy talking to her.  And Harry offered me ten quid and a shot if I got her to go away.”

Liam’s eyes get a little big, mouth falling open.  “He did what?”

Zayn nods, teeth sliding over his own bottom lip.  “Think I would’ve done it for free.  No one deserves to be that miserable on their birthday.”

“It’s on – “

“Right, right.  Monday.  I get it,” Zayn interjects, waving at Liam dismissively.  “Besides, she didn’t seem like your type anyways.”

Liam snorts, arms folding over his chest.  “My _type?_   And what’s that?”

Zayn shrugs, hand rubbing at the back of his neck.  “Don’t know yet.”

“And you care because?”

“I don’t,” Zayn says flatly, eyes narrowing some.  Liam nods, thinks maybe he’s pushed Zayn a little too far when he doesn’t mean to, but maybe Zayn deserved it?  It’s not like he’s even bothered to talk to Liam like a normal person yet. 

He wants to ask Zayn how he managed to nail down being an asshole while looking so good doing it until Harry edges up to them, all grins and brilliantly wide green eyes that Liam can’t help but laugh at because, well, it’s Harry.  He’s slipping an arm around Liam’s shoulders, pinching playfully at Liam’s cheeks and Liam cautiously anchors an arm around Harry’s waist, holding him steady because Harry’s got that look that says “I’ve had just enough.”

Liam chews on his bottom lip as Harry thrusts a shot in Zayn’s direction, curls not as neat as they were before and he’s got a lopsided grin when Zayn’s brow lifts, slowly pulling the drink from Harry’s fingers.

“Didn’t I tell you this bloke was amazing?” Harry asks, head lolling to the side to look at Liam and Liam tries not to wince when he smells the alcohol on Harry.  “He got rid of that old Wicked Witch of the – “

“Harry,” Liam says in a warning tone, his brow knitting together and Harry’s mouth snaps shut almost immediately.

“She was a wonderful girl, really,” Harry insists, turning to look at Zayn this time and Liam wonders if Zayn really believes Harry.

“Didn’t know her,” Zayn replies unevenly with a shrug and Liam feels his teeth tug a little too hard at his lip watching Zayn, the way the lights flash off of his skin, his eyes hooded behind long lashes but he can still read the indifference.  Zayn doesn’t care, he’s almost certain.  He did it all for the money or the drink or just to get under Liam’s skin.  He tries to ignore it, but his head and heart seem to be reasoning otherwise.

Liam watches Zayn shrug once more, head nodding to the music as he lifts his drink.  He reaches forward before it can touch Zayn’s lips, those lips that suddenly Liam wishes he could run his fingers over because they look soft, honestly.

“You owe me,” Liam asserts, fingers wrapping around the glass and he doesn’t have to put up much effort to peel it from Zayn’s fingers.  He knows he’s stronger and Zayn puts up little protest.

Zayn shoots him a surprised look, lips falling slightly apart as Liam grins smugly.  He thinks he spots the corner of Zayn’s mouth twitching upward when Liam swallows back the shot, all citrus and vodka – something Harry would love.  He ignores the snort Harry gives from the side, nodding at Zayn who is smiling now, eyes crinkling just a little and he can see a freckling of Tricia in the way he holds his expression.

“I think,” Harry starts, plucking the empty shot glass from Liam’s fingers, “you need to have a little more fun, Liam.”

Liam shoots him a curious look.  “I am.”

Harry laughs, deep in his stomach and with a hand on his chest.  “No, you’re _trying_.  I know these things.”

“You do?” Liam asks, but he’s telling Harry rather than asking him.

Harry always does.  He gets Liam, when the others just don’t seem to or are too blind to it.  But Harry?  He catches all the little sighs, Liam’s posture, the way his jokes are flat on purpose, dry even.  It annoys Liam, only some days, but it’s the best part of Harry.

Harry’s eyes drop on Zayn and then slide back to Liam, his smile a little crooked but Zayn’s not paying attention.  No, he’s watching some brunette rock her hips and flick her hand while dancing on some poor bloke who doesn’t really know where to put his hands or when to sidle up to her to fit his head between her neck and shoulder.

Liam guesses Zayn would.  He’d know where to slide those hands, just under her shirt and right along the smooth flesh of her hip.  He’d know where those lips would go, right along the tendons of her neck, whispering things just against the shell of her ear until she’s a violent red and begging him with her hips.  They’d be sweaty before even leaving the dance floor, looking completely fucked without removing an inch a clothing and Zayn would walk away from her, cigarette already lit, leaving her in some corner of the room with a satiny grin on those pink lips after he’s gotten what he wants because Zayn just seems like that type.  Not that he’s judging, though he sort of is.

“Dance with him,” Harry blurts out and Liam jerks his eyes away from Zayn because he’s not really sure who Harry is talking to, but it doesn’t seem like a good idea either way.

Zayn quirks up his brow.  “I don’t dance.”

Liam laughs lowly, ducks his head when Zayn glares at him.  “You don’t dance,” he repeats, letting his eyes roam over the club rather than Zayn.

“Dance with him,” Harry say again, nudging Liam this time and Liam wants to shove him away and he would if he didn’t think Harry would fall on his ass in front of everyone.  Liam would probably be the only one able to help him back to his feet anyway.

“No,” Liam replies flatly, looking on Harry who still has that awful grin on his lips.  Stupid dimple flaring and Liam sighs.

“Come on Liam,” Harry groans, leaning up closer until he’s right in Liam’s ear, “He’s hot.  You and I both know it.  What will it hurt?”

“A lot,” Liam says briskly, jerking back from Harry.  He doesn’t know if Zayn’s heard Harry, doesn’t care except Zayn looks a little sheepish, something dimming in his eyes and Liam sort of wishes that wounded look didn’t bother him so much.

“Can you dance?” Harry wonders, head jerking in Zayn’s direction and Liam knows it’s not Harry’s best idea when Harry stumbles in his arms a little, Liam struggling to keep him up.

Zayn bites down on his lip, eyes dropping some and those lashes are curling against his cheeks in the most beautiful way. 

“No,” Zayn whispers but Liam reads it in his face before his lips move.

Harry giggles, cheeks stained pink, and Zayn’s snapping his head up, playfully shoving at Harry’s shoulder before hissing, “Fuck off.”

“What?  It’s sort of cute,” Harry snickers out, holding his own this time and Liam’s thankful because he doesn’t think he could handle both of them toppling over in a crowded club.

“Whatever,” Zayn sighs, dipping his chin.  “I’m going to the bar.”

Instinct gets the best of him in the worst way and Liam’s fingers are curling around Zayn’s wrist before he has a chance to fully turn away.  He feels the cold rush over him when Zayn glares at him, eyebrows lowered before gold eyes are looking at Liam’s hand on his wrist.  When he lifts them, Liam refuses to let go although Zayn’s eyes are demanding he do so.

“Come on,” Liam requests, fingers tightening just slightly around Zayn’s wrist, “Dance with me.”

“I don’t – “

“Zayn,” Liam argues sharply before Zayn can finish and he wishes his voice hadn’t sounded so demanding because Zayn flinches, eyes thinning at Liam.  Liam wants to kick himself but he slowly strokes his thumb along the back of Zayn’s wrist instead, gentle rubs as he softens the features on his face until Zayn relaxes under his touch.

“Please.  Dance with me?” Liam asks, his tone engulfed in tenderness and Zayn’s shoulders drop some, his jaw less tense.  Liam inches forward, spots the way Zayn pulls back some but Liam’s turning Zayn’s wrist until he can fit his fingers between Zayn’s, securing their hands.

Zayn glances toward Harry whose too busy watching their hands, smiling quietly to return the gaze.  There’s a sigh pushing past pink lips, teeth sinking into that bottom one briskly as Liam gets close enough – _We’ve been keeping it PG. But I want to get a little bit frisky_ – and Liam tightens his fingers around Zayn’s, too close not to raise his other hand and touch Zayn.  He doesn’t, though.

“Fine,” Zayn pushes out, his face blank but Liam smiles when there’s something like flecked desire rimming those almost almond eyes.

“Fine,” Liam repeats, licking his lips.  Zayn watches.

Zayn’s turning to guide them and Harry’s right at Liam’s heels for the first few steps, lips to Liam’s ear as he whispers, “Remember, he’s hot and it’s your birthday.  Do everything that I can’t, yeah?”

Liam snorts, doesn’t reply to Harry but he thinks, yeah, he probably could.

Zayn drags them to a mostly empty spot near the edge of the dance floor even though Liam doesn’t know how because _everywhere_ feels like the dance floor, bodies gyrating and smashing against each other wall-to-wall across the club.  But there’s really no one where they are, a few girls who are completely sloshed and dancing on each other, a few guys bopping off to the side and even two guys nearly making out with each other because they’re too pissed on whatever to realize, yeah, that’s my best mate.  And the music is pumping even louder – _Come give me some of that yum like a lollipop_ – if that’s quite possible.

It takes Zayn a while to get comfortable, eyes roaming all over to see if anyone’s watching and he’s sort of shuffling side to side, digging his teeth into his bottom lip with hands mostly staying to his side.  Liam grins, thinks it’s all sort of cute but he doesn’t laugh.  He knows it probably took Zayn more courage to do this than it did to do anything else that night.  And it shows, the tenseness in his shoulders, the way his hips barely move and his feet seemed glued to one spot for a beat or two, head only bobbing because it probably looks cool to some of the guys.  It looks ridiculous to Liam, but he refuses to tell Zayn that.

“C’mere,” Liam demands with a smirk, his hand sliding onto Zayn’s waist and Zayn nearly freezes, tenses up a little too much for Liam’s liking.

“What?”

“Just come here,” Liam requests a little louder this time, fingers curling around the bone in Zayn’s hip and he can’t deny he likes the way his thick fingers feel there, tracing the indentations.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Liam insists, pleading eyes as he tries to pull Zayn closer.

“I’m not worried about that,” Zayn snaps, defenses still high.

Liam laughs, eyes rolling before he’s scooting forward himself, leg fitting between Zayn’s and it only takes him a few slides before he’s up against Zayn, his other hand working its way to the small of Zayn’s back.

“Just go with it,” Liam advises, still smiling because he thinks it calms Zayn.

Zayn nods slowly, a shaky hand lifting and resting on Liam’s shoulder while the other one glides up Liam’s stomach, fingers lingering just a little too long to feel the definition there, before resting on Liam’s neck.

Liam moves them, pushes and maneuvers Zayn’s hips until they’re moving with Liam’s.  They find a groove, something painfully difficult with the way Zayn keeps trying to fight against him, and Liam catches the smile fold over Zayn’s lips when he falls into a pattern.  Liam grins at that, watches Zayn’s eyes fall to where their bodies are moving against each other and there’s a breathy sigh slipping past Zayn’s lips.

It only takes a few beats before they move like they’ve been doing this forever.  Zayn’s loosens his grip on Liam’s shoulder, the other hand becoming a little more possessive as it pulls on Liam’s neck until they’re desperately close, foreheads pressed together.  His hips roll like he’s let go and Liam tries to shift his hips a little so that Zayn doesn’t feel Liam’s hardness in his jeans though he’s pretty sure Zayn does when his hips stutter and he grinds down against Zayn’s upper thigh.

Liam’s not quite sure when their eyes find each other, breathing in the same air, but he doesn’t dare look away.  He tries to pick out every color in those eyes, gold and amber with just a few specks of hazelnut, olive, and shades of caramel.  There’s a softness brought on by those lashes and, even when Zayn’s eyes look sharpest, Liam still thinks he can see a gentle uncertainty buried beneath all the layers.

Zayn’s fingers run the length of his arm, over the muscles and there’s a soft coo when Zayn runs the ridges on his upper arm.  Liam’s drawing small patterns over the small of Zayn’s back, feeling a little bold and letting his fingers slide underneath the hem of Zayn’s shirt to touch bare skin.  There’s cold sweat there and skin so soft that Liam’s certain his tongue would go numb trying to lick it raw.  His other hand slides up and down Zayn’s side, fingers tracing every  bump of Zayn’s ribs and then back down until he feels Zayn’s hip, fingers digging in so he can roll his own against Zayn.  When the bass thumps against his eardrum, he pushes just hard enough that Zayn feels his erection, full and throbbing, just along Zayn’s groin.

“ _Oh._ ”

Liam grins, teeth nipping at his own lip as Zayn’s eyes widen – _C’mon, ‘cause I know what I like. And you’re looking just like the type_.

Zayn shakes his head slowly, foreheads still pressed together and his chin tilts up just a little until Zayn’s lips are just close enough that Liam could if he wanted.  He really could because Zayn’s tongue slides over his lips, leaving them deliciously wet with saliva.  He hesitates, doesn’t inch in further because he doesn’t know Zayn.  And he doesn’t do things like this; the whole one off thing.  Harry is better at that, Louis too before he was with Eleanor.  Not Liam.  He’s the relationship guy, uncontrollably sensible about everything even though there’s something inside of him that’s wanted to break out of the cage for so long.

“You’re good,” Zayn whispers but Liam still hears him.  In fact, he thinks everything else stopped existing about five minutes ago when Zayn got him here.

“Not so bad yourself,” Liam says and he means it.  Zayn’s got a rhythm, he _fits_ into the music and Liam’s not really sure how to explain that but it makes sense to him.

“I’m much better,” Zayn says, lips even closer now and Liam regrets looking in those eyes because they’re dark and Liam’s cock twitches.  And Zayn smells incredible, that cigarette smell faint now but the vanilla and sweet like mangoes cologne hover just as Zayn finishes, “In other areas.  With less clothing.  A _lot_ less clothing.”

Liam pulls his head back some, eyebrow lifting and Zayn’s running his tongue over his lips a little too lewdly now.  He doesn’t back away, fits his hands around Zayn’s waist while Zayn cradles his arms around Liam’s neck, the beat pulsing in the back of Liam’s mind – _Now don’t even try to deny. We’re both going home satisfied. Let’s go for it just for tonight_.

“I need a drink,” Liam says suddenly, the air way too thick and those eyes, little circles of fire, itch against Liam’s senses.

He’s hot, sweat sliding down his arms and across his chest.  He swears he sees stars or bright spots because even this close, Zayn is breathtaking.  It’s the alcohol, has to be, because he doesn’t think enough of Zayn for him to leave him breathing hard with a numbness everywhere except his cock which is probably leaving a sizeable stain in his boxers right about now.

“Right,” Zayn mutters, pulling his arms off of Liam and he’s cold again, backing away with hooded eyes and a wrinkled brow.  That indifference on his face filters in so quickly that Liam almost misses the point where he wasn’t really Zayn anymore, not the one that Liam suspects he was starting to like.

“I need a smoke anyway,” Zayn shrugs, pulling the pack from his back pocket, tapping the bottom of it.

Liam nods, eyes fleeing for a moment.  He can feel Zayn’s on him, watching from the corner of his eye as he rubs his palms together, the sweat making the drag of skin on skin a sweet burn.  His fingers tremble and his throat is still more than a little dry as he chances a glance at Zayn who has a cigarette rolled between his lips, eyes waiting for Liam to say something.  It takes him a moment to even out his breathing under Zayn’s gaze, which is too long, because Zayn’s shaking his head and moving through the crowd before Liam can say what he wants to say –

“Can I go with you?”

“Can you what?” Harry asks, fumbling grin on his lips as he hauls an arm around Liam’s neck, dragging him close.

Liam gives him a half-smile, lets Harry nuzzle his forehead to Liam’s temple.  He carefully nicks the sloshing drink from Harry’s fingers, bringing it to his own lips to take a sip before frowning.  Too strong.

“This place is incredible,” Harry says, buzzing.  His lips drag over Liam’s cheek with a grin.

Liam rolls his eyes, feels Harry’s sanity slipping.  “You okay mate?”

“I’m brilliant,” Harry assures but his words are even more slurred than before.  “I’m bloody fantastic, okay Li?  And you, you are quite splendid too.  You’re like, like my best mate.  Besides Lou, who sort of…”

Liam nods as the words die off, tracing his eyes over the club to where Louis is standing up in the booth from earlier, hands in the air and dancing daftly.  Eleanor’s giggling, Niall’s arm slung around her petite shoulders with a grin hovering over his lips.

Liam shakes his head, feels Harry’s hot sigh rush over his cheek and he doesn’t deny he’s searching the rest of the club for dark hair and traces of cigarette smoke.  He watches the lights dance, hitting angles and swaying bodies and he can still see the way that light traced over the sharpness of Zayn’s face, over those fingers that scattered over Liam’s body like he appreciated Liam’s body, wanting nothing more than to get underneath every layer of cotton and denim just to trace every inch of Liam.

His breath catches, something coiling in his stomach, and his eyes move a little more frantic now just to find a set of gold eyes.  It’s unsettling.  Beautifully unsettling.

“He’s beautiful,” Harry breathes out, his voice broken and wavering.

Liam nods, knows Harry isn’t talking about Zayn but Liam thinks he is for a moment.  When his eyes fall on Zayn leaning up against the bar, Perrie next to him now with her head buried in his shoulder as she laughs.  Her hand is running over his chest, they’re incredibly close, and Liam thinks there’s no one else in the world Harry could be talking about when Zayn’s eyes crinkle, his nose scrunches, cheeks pushed up with white teeth showing as he snickers.  The gold from the lights are dull compared the glow of Zayn’s skin and Liam’s fingers itch now to trace over that skin again.

“Lou is shitfaced,” Niall giggles and Liam jumps a little when he finds Niall on his other side, curling around Liam and Harry with a sloppy grin.

“Probably,” Harry snickers back.

Liam bites down on his lip, quick glance to where Louis is clinging to Eleanor, laughing hard.  He’s certain the world is buzzing around Louis, all bright lights and applause just for him.  But his eyes find Liam and he grins, not daftly like Niall and Harry, but knowingly.  It’s all an act and Liam smirks at it, the corners of his mouth curved and high.

“That’s Lou for you,” Liam says, biting on the edge of his tongue so he doesn’t say anything else.

“And this place is incredible,” Niall sighs out, stuttered laugh following.

“Incredible,” Harry agrees with a hiccup.  “Oh shit, I already said that.”

Liam lowers the drink in his hand when Harry tries to grab it back, his reflexes far better than Harry’s in this moment.  He smiles at that.

“And Liam, this guy, is way too sober,” Niall announces loudly as if he were talking to a large group rather than just Liam and Harry.

“Way,” Harry grins out, leaning back some.  Those emerald eyes are lidded, head nodding.

“Shut it,” Liam hisses but he’s laughing, the alcohol setting in pleasantly against his brain.

Harry shoots him a hurt look, frown teasing at his lips but Liam’s rolling his eyes, grinning.

“And that one,” Niall says lowly because, suddenly, he’s caught on that it really is just Liam and Harry.  His head is jerking toward the bar and Liam doesn’t really have to try to find Zayn.  “I don’t know about that one.  He seems fun.”

“He _is_ ,” Harry agrees quickly.

Niall nods, eyes narrowing.  “Yeah, but I don’t know.  Might not be good for our little Payne.”

Liam snorts.  How Niall went from lovesick to incredibly sloshed and loud to the voice of sound reasoning Liam never understood but, then again, he never made it a point to try and understand how Niall worked.  He just _did_ and Liam liked that.

“Who cares,” Harry blurts out, stumbling backward and he finds his footing before Liam has to for him.  “He could just be a one off.”

Liam balks at Harry, brow wrinkling.  “No.”

“We’re not here to find the love of your life Liam,” Harry complains, his voice whiny and he looks annoyed.

“We’re not?” Niall asks, hiccupping out a laugh right after.

“Love is fucking bullshit,” Harry declares, the set of his lips showing his aggravation.  “He can just be some empty, meaningless thing for the weekend.  He means nothing when we leave London and that’s the beauty of it.”

Niall’s nodding, wide grin on his lips with dancing eyes that fall on Zayn, then Liam, then Zayn again.

Liam ignores them for a beat, watching Zayn who’s smiling across that thick distance of bodies separating them.  Those amber eyes stick on Liam for a few breaths, his jaw clenched as he sips slowly on something bluish, the color of Niall’s eyes.

Yeah, Liam thinks just a moment, he wouldn’t mind looking in those eyes for longer than he’s supposed to.

He inhales deep, white noise scattering his mind and he can’t really hear anything except dulled music – _I wanna just screw around_.  His expression is blank, lips fumbling to do more than feel the press of his own teeth there.  Like he wouldn’t mind feeling Zayn’s lips there, see if they taste more like spearmint rather than that burn of nicotine.

Liam looks away, frowning.  That’s not like him.  But, _fuck_ , it is his birthday weekend and maybe he could – _I don’t wanna think about think about what’s gonna be after this; I wanna just live right now_ – be anything other than the same Liam Payne he’s been for eighteen years now.  Maybe he could be just like what he imagines Zayn is, what Zayn is probably thinking.

He shivers, that rush sticking to his skin like that thin layer of sweat has been for too long now.

“You lot are up to no good,” Louis says and Liam looks up suddenly, more than a little shocked to see Louis and Eleanor nearly hovering over them.

“ _You’re_ up to no good,” Eleanor giggles, her hand pressed to Louis’ chest.

Louis smiles warmly, eyes and nose crinkling for her.  “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Harry repeats with a snort, shaking his head.

Louis’ head snaps in Harry’s direction, brow lowering.  Eleanor bites on the side of her bottom lip, head ducking.

“We’re not,” Niall interjects before Harry can, easing between Louis and Eleanor, arms curling around their shoulders.

Louis nods slowly, still watching Harry.  Liam can feel the crumpling heat, wants to drag Harry away.

“Yeah,” Harry says, tight smile over cherry lips.  “We’re just having a good time, right?”

“Right,” Louis agrees, pushing out a grin that Liam doesn’t believe.

“Do you want to dance?” Eleanor asks Louis, a small tug on his arm but blue eyes are still lingering on Harry like there’s a question that has yet to reach Louis’ lips.

Harry squints his eyes at Eleanor, lazy smile pushing up one side of his mouth.

“Don’t Harry,” Louis says lowly, his fingers curling around Harry’s wrist.

Harry laughs, loud and it’s rough.  “Dance with her.”

“I’ll dance with you,” Niall chimes in, inching forward to block Eleanor’s view of Louis.

Eleanor sighs, eyes dropping again.  It’s like she knows something, never says anything.

Harry barks out another laugh, head shaking and there’s a sting in the way he jerks his arm out of Louis’ grasp.

Louis gapes at him, face folding into a wounded one just that quickly.  Liam swallows, thinks about pushing Louis away into a corner just to have him to himself and away from this invading confusion that he reads in every crinkle in Louis’ expression.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Louis finally snaps and Liam swallows back a groan, turning away a little.

“Me?  You’ve got the wrong guy, mate,” Harry laughs out, but there’s a thickness there.  It’s stinging with emotion and Liam catches the way Niall’s pleading with his eyes for Liam to pull Harry away.

“Whatever,” Louis bites back, eyes narrowed at Harry.

“More shots are needed,” Niall says lowly, leaning his head on Eleanor’s shoulder.  She nods, but Liam knows she’s not giving Niall half of her attention.  It’s all on Louis.

“Right,” Louis mutters, reaching back and folding his fingers with Eleanor’s.  She tenses, but Louis doesn’t notice.  He’s still glaring at Harry.

And Harry, poor Harry is dragging his fingers through his curls until they’re tangled and the lights halo off of them.  He’s still a glaze of angelic features that Liam thinks blur the more the alcohol settles into his system.

“I need air,” Harry grumbles, nudging past Liam and instinct is calling Liam to chase him, but he doesn’t.  He knows it’s not what Harry wants.  Harry needs space to breathe, to cage those emotions again because they’re running over, sticking to him like those late December snowflakes against the ground back home.

Niall glances around, sheepish with his grin but it thickens when he looks at Liam.  “Uh, right, so we’re celebrating Liam’s birthday, yeah?”

“It’s not until – “

“Oi, shut it, yeah?” Louis pleads, glaring at Liam this time and Liam pushes his lips sideways.  Louis sighs, dragging his free hand through his hair and there’s something apologetic in those blue eyes that Liam nods at.

“Can we just, like, get shitfaced already?” Louis begs.

Liam settles a hand on Louis’ shoulder, nods.  He owes Louis that much because Louis is his best mate.  And they need this, both of them.  Niall does too.

It’s not too long before they’re passing shots around the bar, Liam laughing into Louis’ neck as Louis attempts to hold down another shot of something emerald, like Harry’s eyes, that Perrie’s thrown together.  Louis’ passing her his credit card, buying another round of something clear and strong, Liam wiping the back of his hand along his forehead as they shut their eyes tightly to swallow it down.  Louis’ a burst of giggles, trying to tangle his fingers into Liam’s short hair as Liam chases the shot with a swig of beer, bitter and sharp as it runs down his throat.

Eleanor’s face is wrinkling after she takes a shot of tequila, licking salt from the back of her hand and sucking desperately at a lime that Niall feeds her.  She’s waving her hands around theatrically, eyes glossy wet as Niall eases a hand over the small of her back, comforting her until she’s a mess of giggles.  Cher’s leaning lazily on Niall, snickering at everything Perrie says from behind the bar and the pulse of the music rocks against Liam like waves lapping against the edges of a cliff – _Standing in the light ‘til it’s over. Out of our minds._

It’s a dizziness against his mind, sipping on a canary drink that tastes more like pineapple than it does rum as Louis and Niall tease each other, tossing back shots of silver tequila, slamming their glasses on the bar with a howl.  Niall chases his with a long gulp of beer, smiling around the neck of the bottle as Perrie shrugs.  Louis chases his with a kiss from Eleanor, sloppy and it’s maddening how unaffectionate it is as if Louis has something to prove.  Eleanor laughs, shoving him back but Liam catches the way she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, brow furrowing and lips clicking into a pout.

His stomach drops for her, running his tongue over his lips as she turns to whisper something to Cher who rolls her eyes.

“To Liam Payne,” Louis crows, hands squeezing at Liam’s shoulders from behind, nearly knocking the drink out of Liam’s hand.

“To Liam,” Niall agrees, beer raised in Liam’s direction.

Liam folds into a grin, nose scrunching as he takes another slow sip of his drink.  His skin heats up like crackling fire.

“Best mate I could ever ask for,” Louis slurs out, jumping forward to slide a messy kiss against Liam’s cheek and Liam’s laughing as he steps forward, nearly tumbles out of Louis’ grip.

Liam glances back, spots Harry catching Louis as he stumbles backward, hands securing around Louis’ middle as Louis’ back crashes into Harry’s chest.  Harry’s sturdy, holding Louis and Louis’ hands fold over Harry’s, breathing heavy.

“You’re pissed now.  Happy?” Harry asks, his voice rolling and low but Liam still hears it.

Louis nods, massive grin quirking his lips upward.  His eyes are heavy and he looks undeniably comfortable in Harry’s embrace, sighing.  Its Harry’s milky skin against Louis’ all too tanned skin, that bird etched onto Louis’ forearm bending its shape as Louis secures his fingers tightly over Harry’s larger hand.  His thumb traces over the bumps of Harry’s knuckles, Eleanor’s eyes following before Niall’s clearing his throat – _Someone had to draw the line. We’ll be coming back for you one day_.

“Dance with me,” Eleanor demands and Liam has to follow her stare to spot her eyes on Niall, not Louis.

“Wait, what – “

“Don’t be a dick,” Eleanor sighs heavily, fingers digging into the fabric of Niall’s shirt.  She looks over her shoulder, glare shot Louis’ way.  “Or don’t be completely daft.”

Liam swallows back the last of his drink, ice cubes clinking against his lips as he watches Eleanor drag Niall away and Louis’ shrugging out of Harry’s grip, gaping at Eleanor but she’s too far gone to see any of it.

“Fuck,” Louis hisses, elbowing past Harry and Harry flips him off when Louis’ back is to them.

“Wanker,” Harry gripes, pushing up to the bar.

Liam runs a hand over his face.  The air is thick and warm, sweat still sticking to the back of his neck.  He wonders if he’s had enough drinks, or enough _strong_ drinks because he can’t maintain a buzz but he thinks it has more to do with his friends than what he’s consumed.  It just lets his stomach heavy and he can’t breathe with so many bodies moving, so much electricity in the air that he can’t touch with his fingertips.

But he feels it, breathing against his heart, sick and giggly all at once.  A smile slicks over his lips.  He finds Zayn’s eyes just on the edge of the dance floor and he feels warm.

He doesn’t care who he nudges, who he shoulders past while he moves.  He’s careful steps, the alcohol just on the curve of his senses.  It feels like it takes forever, but it’s probably seconds.  And then he’s there, in front of Zayn, breathing in smoke and vanilla and everything that keeps him fuzzy like he wants.

“Hey,” he says, teeth digging into his lip.

Zayn snorts, plays with the flame of his lighter.  “Shouldn’t you be somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Liam says with a shy shrug, dragging his hand over the back of his head, resting on the back of his neck.  “Come with me.”

“Excuse me?” Zayn asks, eyebrows coming together.

Liam laughs, nervous and his cheeks feel hotter than that flame on the tip of Zayn’s lighter.

He sees blues and greens and the gold of Zayn’s skin, his tongue a little heavy as Zayn’s tongue runs slowly over his lips.

“Yeah, come with me,” Liam repeats, confident this time.  “I need to get out of here.  Can’t breathe.”

“And your friends?” Zayn wonders, nodding his head to where Eleanor inches her body all over Niall’s, to where Harry broods at the bar, to where Louis sucks on the tip of his beer bottle to cool the anger.

“They’ll understand,” Liam insists but he doesn’t think he understands himself.

He doesn’t quite know where this is coming from, where he suddenly let reality blur right along the edges.  It’s tight in his chest, right against his throat and he ducks his head when Zayn nods slowly, lips a thin line of concentration.

“Come on,” Liam sighs, fingers shaking when he reaches forward but he manages to slide his palm along Zayn’s until his fingers dip into the spaces between Zayn’s.

Zayn looks down, studies their hands like earlier.  His brow drops and Liam thinks he must be right pissed now because he’s never this bold.  He’s never this… _alive_.

“Come with you?” Zayn questions, his voice dipping low and it breaks Liam that quickly.

Liam inches up close to Zayn, nodding.  He watches the way Zayn’s chest rises and falls, the way his teeth sink into his bottom almost like Liam’s except Zayn’s is focused in shyness while Liam gnaws at his so that he doesn’t drag a thumb over Zayn’s full lips before kissing him.

Because that would be complete rubbish.  That wouldn’t be Liam.  Still, it drags along his mind like a slow burn and he doesn’t get too close because then Zayn will feel how fucking hard Liam is thinking about something that beautiful.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Liam asks with a gulp.

Zayn nods, assured arrogance returning to his eyes.  Liam thinks he could kiss that out of Zayn.

“Okay,” Zayn repeats, his grin tilted to one side.  “Wherever you want to go.  Let’s go.”

Liam nods, considers it all because he had no idea where he wanted to go.  But he felt Zayn’s fingers tightening against his, tugging until Liam finally figured out how to make his feet work again.  He doesn’t glance over his shoulder, thinks it’d be smart just to give Niall some sort of signal because, really, none of them knew Zayn.  Liam didn’t know Zayn.  He could be just another casual victim of some brilliantly smart serial killer and wouldn’t that be the epitome of Louis’ idea of a wild weekend?

Liam laughs to himself, kicks past broken beer bottles on the ground, over empty plastic cups and he’s following Zayn willing.  That buzz is finally kicking in and his cheeks go pink when Zayn looks over his shoulder, laughing with crinkled eyes and a boyishness that Liam clings to.

He loves the way Zayn’s cheeks push up high, his tongue licking at the back of his teeth and there’s a haze of friendliness, uncontrollable silliness that should be complete rubbish because where has _this_ Zayn been?

Doesn’t matter, he thinks.  He stumbles behind Zayn until their up the steps, through the doors and the cool August air slams against his body like the rush of a rollercoaster.

**

The night is like the sweetest sugar fix – the kind that slides slowly down the throat, eases its way against your senses until it hits just that spot left of amazing.  It drips, no, _glides_ against the brain, leaving it numb.  Where a tongue rolls over lips, licks away the last of it until everything’s sticky and warm and incredibly dizzy.  And when it’s gone, it hurts.  It aches like the best kind of nightmare because there’s sweat sliding against your forehead, your fingers shake, and your breath is more than just a little uneven; it’s _ragged_.

Yeah, Liam feels that way when the air circles him and it’s still warm, anything less than hot, but the wind shifts just a little and wraps a cool breeze over him.

They’re mostly quiet when they duck through a few of the back streets, Liam never really asking where they’re going though it’s beating against the back of his mind.  He watches Zayn, all candle-lit smiles that are sometimes hard to see when he looks away to watch passing cars, look at the neon signs at the places open way too late but it’s London and everything is alive past his expiration date.

Liam slips his hands into his pockets when Zayn dips into one of those twenty-four hour stores, fishing out crumpled quid to pay the man behind the counter for a box of cigarettes.  Zayn’s head is lowered, ignoring everything the man says, snatching up his cigarettes and he’s got one between his lips before he even gets out of the store.

Liam can hear the music playing overhead as he waits outside – _I don’t know about you but I’m feeling twenty-two. Everything will be alright if you keep me next to you_.  He rocks back on his heels, grinning.  It’s the type of song Harry would hate, turning the volume down way low on Louis’ radio with a pinched expression.  He’d rag on the singer, make all of them promise to castrate him if he even thought about dating a girl like that because, yeah, that would be horrible.  And he can hear Harry saying, “You’d have to be quite daft to date someone that annoying.  Matter of fact, I bet I’d never be that desperate” and Liam laughs – _You don’t know about me but I bet you want_ _to_ – because he thinks the way Harry is about Louis, he wouldn’t know the difference.

“Coming?” Zayn asks, cigarette lit and hanging from his lips with an arched eyebrow.

Liam blinks at him, deep breaths.  It’s sobering, looking on the way the orange lights flick off of Zayn’s expression.  He’s uncertain for a beat – _It feels like one of those nights. You look like bad news. I’ve got to have you_.

“Yeah,” Liam replies, a small shrug.

Zayn snorts, rubbing at the end of his nose as he exhales a curl of almost blue smoke.

Liam bites into his bottom lip, rubbing at his cheek.  He pushes out a quiet smile, one that Zayn laughs at before sliding his hand down Liam’s arm, fingers calloused and warm against his skin until they circle around Liam’s wrist.  They pull, gently, and Liam’s catching on quicker than he thought he would.  He’s moving nervous feet until he’s taking slow strides with Zayn down another street he doesn’t know.

He wishes he was back home in Wolverhampton so he could see the stars.  They’re blotches against the dark purple sky tonight, way too high up in the sky to be seen.  And maybe it’s all the tall buildings, the wave of the city, the way Zayn’s cigarette smoke keeps billowing higher every time he takes a drag from it.

Harry would always make up constellations back home.  From the hood of Liam’s father’s car, both leaning back against the windshield.  Harry’s curls would fall just out of his face, grin on his lips as he tried to connect the dots with his fingers.  He doesn’t know Cassiopeia or Andromeda but he knows if he draws it out right with his fingertips he can put together lions and buildings and even broken hearts, never frowning at the thought.  He’s brilliant with bright green eyes, ripping the stems off of strawberries before popping them into his mouth, lips stained a gorgeous red later on when they’re talking about nothing at all.

He can’t see the stars in London.

Not in the sky, at least.  He sees them dancing across Zayn’s face though.  The street lights swipe over his face, all ivory and amber shining and softening everything about him.  They caress the angle of his jaw, right over his chin.  His eyelashes look like they have gold dust on their edges, his cheeks looking incredibly soft and Liam’s almost certain they are, even with the scruff.  There’s still enough product in his hair that the lights halo on it, streaking it platinum.  His smile, quiet and unexpected, is etched with gold from the lights and the way the corner of his mouth quirks, pushing at his cheeks just enough until Liam imagines a dimple that doesn’t exist.

They talk about small, non-threatening things.  How long has Zayn worked at the café?  Since he was old enough to balance a tray with one hand.  Does Zayn play any sports?  No, and Zayn says that with an offended look on his face.  Does Zayn have any other siblings?  No, just his sisters which he’s quite proud of because Waliyha and Safaa look up to him, Doniya does too sometimes.

Zayn asks him about back home, which Liam happily goes on about for what feels like ten minutes.  He talks about his sisters, life in a smaller town, the way he loves Christmas because it’s just magical back home with all the lights strung along the city and he always eats dinner at Harry’s, sometimes Louis’, before going running around the streets that are blanketed in white, white snow.  Zayn’s got a small grin on his lips while Liam talks, all dramatic hand movements and Liam feels foolish, turning two shades pinker until he’s biting at his lip and letting the buzz of the streets wash over the conversation.

Liam tries to ask Zayn more about his own family and Zayn shrugs, says a few things about cousins and having way too many girls in his family.  He doesn’t say much else, nothing about his parents which Liam thinks about prying about but Zayn’s face is blank, brow lowered and his lips are almost pushed downward into a frown.

Liam goes on about Batman, the new trailers he’s seen for movies, the way he loves to sit in bed crowded by comics when he’s sick and he reads the Flash for hours.  Zayn smirks, lighting up another cigarette before Liam finishes reciting all of his favorite lines from _the Dark Knight Rises_ , Zayn mouthing along to some of them quietly.  Liam pushes at him, laughing and Zayn’s snickering, head bowed.  They dance around each other, shouting out their favorite parts until Liam’s fingers slide along the back of Zayn’s neck, pulling him a little closer and they’re breathless with laughter as Zayn eyes at him helplessly, teeth stealing along his bottom lip.

Liam fades back, sharp inhale because, no, he wasn’t supposed to get _that_ close.  Zayn ignores it, nudges Liam’s side until they’re walking again, laughter trailing in the air as their feet scuff along the pavement.

Zayn tells him about the ‘ZAP!’ tattoo – “Always had a thing for superheroes and that type of shit” – a few of the other tattoos that Zayn’s designed and it’s all gold skin shifting under the pale light of the night before Zayn’s choking on a laugh, dragging his fingers through his mused hair.  Liam nods along, teeth fastened against his bottom lip and the electric light in Zayn’s eyes is infectious.

Liam curls his own fingers into his hair when things go quiet for a few streets, Zayn humming as Liam looks at signs for Chinese take-away, peep shows, an old cinema where the letters hang helplessly off the broken marquee and he wonders when they stepped so far from the club?

“What about school – “

“Do you always ask so many questions,” Zayn snaps, eyes narrowing a little as he takes another drag from his cigarette.

Liam snorts, hands sliding into his pockets before he shrugs.  “I don’t know.  Guess I don’t like the silence.”

“Hmm,” Zayn hums, nodding.  He twists his lips sideways to exhale the smoke, circling blue clouds floating away from Liam.

“Do you want me to stop?” Liam wonders, kicking loose rocks down the sidewalk.  He shyly lifts his head, glances at Zayn who grins, eyes straight ahead.

Zayn inhales slowly, holding in the smoke for a long beat before breathing it out through his nose.

“No.”

Liam smiles softly, blush feathering his cheeks when Zayn looks on him with that overconfident smile that Liam can’t help but admit that he likes.

“Guess I’m not used to someone actually caring about me,” Zayn shrugs, flicking the cigarette from his fingers.  He stubs it out with his shoe, turning his eyes away from Liam.

“Who says I care?”

Zayn laughs.  It’s deep and it tickles against Liam’s ears, his bottom lip sliding behind teeth.  There’s a genuine shyness he hasn’t noticed in the way Zayn moves, head ducking and a hand sliding through his already fallen hair.  Pieces of it fall over his forehead and Liam thinks it’s probably incredibly soft now. 

He doesn’t notice when Zayn slides closer, eyes falling back to the sidewalk.  Zayn knocks his shoulder into Liam’s and he’s looking up, sideways smile licked out on Zayn’s lips as he walks.

“I dropped out of University,” Zayn says slowly.  He’s looking down now, shuffling the soles of his shoes against the ground.

Liam bites down on his own lip, nodding.  He thinks to ask why but he knows Zayn’s being vulnerable when he doesn’t have to.

Liam bites on the edge of his tongue to stop himself.

“I wanted to be an English teacher.  And a writer,” Zayn declares, his voice dropping some.  “I love to read.  Anything I can get my hands on, I’ll sit for hours and read.  My sisters used to buy me books every birthday and I’d hide away for hours, in the dark if I had to, just reading.”

“What happened?”

Zayn clears his throat, brow coming together.  “My baba wanted more for me.  He didn’t think any man could make it in this world just writing.  Or being a teacher.  He wanted me to _own_ something.  Continue in the family business.”

Liam nods, his teeth sliding a little rougher along his lip until it feels raw.

“My mum never forgave me for leaving school though,” Zayn adds, his voice a bit choked.  He drags his fingers a little harder through his hair this time, tangling in the thickness, face scrunching.

Liam leans in a little closer, shoulder brushing against Zayn’s, fingers skating over the back of Zayn’s hand.  He’s pulled apart, watching the way the stars fall away from Zayn and he’s no longer untouchable, just for those quick breaths.

“Do you regret it?” Liam asks, his voice dipping low as if he’s not even sure he wants to ask the question.

Zayn looks up, chewing the inside of his mouth.  “Some days.”

Liam nods, this thumb rubbing a gentle swirl into the dove outlined along the back of Zayn’s hand.

“I just want them to be proud of me.  I never wanted them to be ashamed of me,” Zayn admits, eyes averting Liam’s gaze again.  He’s rubbing at his chin, blinking repeatedly as if he’s blocking away tears.

“I know the feeling.”

Zayn laughs, thick and choked.  “I try not to do anything that’ll piss them off now.  I don’t like the feeling of them thinking I’m less than, you know, their only son.”

That hurts, even for Liam.  His pinky slips down the edge of Zayn’s hand and he doesn’t know when it links with Zayn’s, but Zayn doesn’t jerk back.  He curls his against Liam’s and they walk like that, arms swinging a little, quiet with the wind dipping in to whisper against their silence.

**

Liam’s dizzy from the alcohol now.  His steps are steady, head high, but there’s a numbness along his brain.  He’s certain of it because he doesn’t realize when Zayn guiding them all the way back to Liam’s hotel or when Liam even bothered to tell Zayn what hotel he was actually staying at.  But they’re there, grinning as they tiptoe through the lobby and Liam can’t fight that ache in his belly at the way the concierge had glared at them as they snickered toward the lift, Zayn’s arm tossed around Liam’s shoulder with Liam’s hand against Zayn’s chest.

Liam does stumble out when they reach his floor, hand reaching back to grab Zayn’s and they’re tripping along that pretty carpet down the hall.  Liam peeks around, doesn’t know why because he hadn’t really noticed anyone else on their floor earlier when they checked in.

He thinks he doesn’t feel like explaining anything to Louis about why he left the club without them, or getting that shameful glare he knows he’ll get from Harry.  Niall would probably be nice about it all because, well, that was just Niall.  He didn’t care either way.

He’s leaning his back against the door to his room, toppled smile over his lips as Zayn eyes him, hands at his side now.  Liam’s head tips back, admires Zayn in the strong light of the hotel and the accents draw pretty lines along Zayn’s cheekbones now.  Liam draws his tongue along his lip, almost mirroring Zayn and all he hears is thumping in his mind – _We are the young ones_.

“I can go,” Zayn finally says, dragging his foot along that lush carpet.  He nods, hand on the back of his neck.  “I should go.  It’s late.”

Liam nods slowly, his stomach catching fire with thoughts conflicting.  His breathing is a little swift, blinking through spots on the back of his eyelids.  Everything’s colored in reds and pinks and he thinks it’s a dangerous combination.

“Or you could stay,” Liam blurts out when Zayn rocks back on his heels.

An eyebrow arches, eyes lowering to study Liam.  He feels the fever rush his cheeks, ducking his head because Zayn’s leaving his cheeks a brilliant pink.

“I could?” Zayn asks, doesn’t demand like Liam wants.

“You could,” Liam stutters out.  When did breathing become so difficult?

“Or I could go, because it’s late,” Zayn maintains, lips pursing.  There’s a fumbled grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.  “Unless you _want_ me to stay?”

Liam nods quickly, fuck, he’s not even sure why.  This isn’t him.  It’s those stupid, pretty, sickeningly sweet drinks that Perrie made him and, damn her, they’re getting the best of him.  They’re dulling all of his senses and everything he knows he’s not, suddenly, he _is_.

And Zayn’s fucking grinning at him like it was all his idea.  Maybe it was.

“Tell me,” Zayn orders, tongue wetting his lips again.

“What?”

Zayn sighs, feathered laugh.  He’s shaking his head, breathing out, “Never mind.  I should go.”

“You should stay,” Liam argues softly, fingers reaching out and they’re warm against Zayn’s cool skin, running the length of Zayn’s forearm until honey eyes find his.

“Stay,” Liam requests, low and throaty like he can’t get the word out.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees, nodding pleasantly.  There’s a smile against his lips.  It feels lopsided but completely appropriate.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Liam repeats, dragging every letter out until the word feels fuzzy against his lips.

He doesn’t feel focused, everything trying to settle in and the air is cool but thick with the scent of smoke and spiced cinnamon.  He’s watching Zayn, waiting for him to back out, throw all of it away because, honestly, why would be bothered with Liam?  There were far more attractive lads at that club, women too, ones that’ll probably gladly drop to their knees to suck Zayn off and never call him the next day.

But Liam’s the type that calls the next day, cuddles afterwards, thinks about where all of this will lead in twenty-four hours.  It’s quite annoying, but it’s him.  Always has been.

He’s decided he doesn’t mind it either.

Zayn jerking his chin toward the door and Liam falls out of those way too binding thoughts.  He pushes them down, sliding off the door and he’s fishing the keycard from his back pocket, fumbling twice to try to get that silly green light to come on.  Zayn snickers behind him, a hand resting on Liam’s hip and that definitely doesn’t help him get any coordination.

The door pops open and Zayn’s fingers are running over the small of his back, giving a gentle nudge because Liam hesitates just that quickly.  But he eases in, flicks on a set of the lights, waits until he hears the door click shut and he prays Zayn’s still on the same side he is.

Zayn’s crowding up behind him, arms wrapped around Liam’s chest with his chin resting on Liam’s shoulder.  Liam sighs out a grin, reaches back to curl fingers around Zayn’s hip and they’re walking awkwardly into the room.  Liam’s toeing out of his shoes, glances down to see Zayn doing the same and his heart is scampering up his throat, choking him with its pulsing beat.

Zayn unwraps himself from Liam and Liam’s cold, too cold without that touch.  He pulls his fingers through his hair, turns slowly because maybe Zayn’s changed his mind.

He keeps waiting for Zayn to change his mind.

“This place is amazing,” Zayn says with awe.

“Yeah.”

“Must’ve set you back a lot,” Zayn adds, looking around but he’s standing in one spot, too close to the door for Liam.

“Yeah,” Liam nods.  “I mean, no, it _didn’t_.  Lou did all of this.  For my birthday.  Which is on – “

“Monday,” Zayn says flatly with a nod.  “Got that part.”

“Yep.”

Zayn snorts, leans against the wall closest to him.  “It’s still nice.  Better than anything I’ve been in.”

Liam wants to tell Zayn how incredible the bed feels, wants to show him, but he bites the inside of his mouth instead, fingers curling and flexing repeatedly.

And Zayn’s quiet, much too quiet.  He’s blinking at Liam, running his tongue over the lips that Liam keeps wondering about.  He’s biting at the bottom one, hands running along the material of his tight black jeans, looking over the room, at Liam, at the window, at Liam again.  Its impossible shyness Liam isn’t ready for and, shit, it just makes this all the more hazy for Liam.

He doesn’t do one offs.  He doesn’t do sex on the first date.  He barely kisses on the first date, no tongue.  But this isn’t a date.  It’s nothing like it.  It’s a chance sort of thing Liam sorts out, thinks that makes it sound better even though it doesn’t.  It makes it worse.

And it makes what Liam does next worse, too.

“Do you want to, maybe, watch the telly – “

Zayn’s words are crowded back into his mouth.  Liam’s hands are on the sides of his face, lips crushed to Zayn’s until everything Zayn had thought about saying is just mumbled and broken.  His thumb is under Zayn’s chin, fingers trying to find purchase until they can angle Zayn’s head and there’s a surprised sound echoed from Zayn’s mouth against Liam’s.

All of his thoughts suffocate just that quickly.  He watches Zayn’s eyes blink shut, lips finally pushing against Liam’s and Liam feels the tilt of Zayn’s head, moves with it.  Liam’s hands drift off of Zayn’s face, down his neck while Zayn wrinkles Liam’s shirt with his fingers, pulling and tugging with a need that Liam wants to fill.

Soft like freshly washed cotton, that’s what Zayn’s lips feel like.  They’re a little chapped on the edges of his bottom lip but Liam doesn’t care.  He gently nips at it, sucks on it until Zayn is groaning and dragging Liam backward, Zayn’s back slamming into the wall behind him.  Liam grins into the kiss, circles his arms around Zayn’s back and holds him tight, fitting them perfectly against each other until all he can feel is Zayn’s body, not even a thin breath of air between them.

Zayn’s lips rub impatiently at his, twisting fingers into the fabric of his clothes incessantly.  It’s hardcore, the way Zayn breathes helplessly against him, squirming and Liam’s a wreck.  Completely and utterly fucked just from kissing Zayn.

And Zayn’s lips part, way, way too hot in the room.  Liam gasps, tastes cigarettes, bitter alcohol, delicious sweetness like mangoes and passion fruit when Zayn’s tongue slides delicately over his.

Liam’s fingers dig into Zayn’s back, leaving marks he knows Zayn will see later but he doesn’t seem to care.  His heart keeps pounding, marching band drums in his head, and he’s trying to catch his breath but Zayn keeps pushing at him with his lips, his hips, the glide of his fingertips.  Everything goes fuzzy, pale white in the darkness before Liam’s reaching behind Zayn, clicking off the light and hauling Zayn off the wall.

“Oh fuck,” Zayn breathes out, Liam’s lips parting just long enough to lick at Zayn’s before he’s grinning, diving back in.

Liam’s certain his lips are swollen, Zayn licking at them softly as they pull back, smirk, ease back in.  His hands are on Zayn’s hips, pulling them until they’re bodies rock against each other and Liam hears it throb in his mind – _I let the bad ones in and the good ones go but_ – and he’s teetering on ecstasy with all of their clothes in.

He tenses at the thought, Zayn tracing lovely patterns over his lips with his own.  His fingers digging into Zayn’s hips, thoughts sobering briefly.

He can’t do this, can he?  Throw it all away, forget who he was just for a minute.

“Do you want to – “

“No,” Liam says quickly.  He’s not sure why because everything in his mind says _“Yes, yes, yes”_ but he doesn’t want to.

“Because I can go,” Zayn assures him, his thumb tracing his cheek.

Liam swallows, head shaking.  “Clothes.  Take them off.”

Every piece of regret pounds, rips at his skin but he’s ignoring the pain.  He’s tearing his shirt off, helping Zayn with his and the moon is cutting through the window to light just enough of the room for Liam to see pieces of golden skin, a pale blue.  He can see the tattoos now; something in Arabic dancing in pretty thin ink along his collarbone.  There’s wings, perfectly sketched feathers gather together and something red in the middle, maybe a heart or a pair of lips, that Liam doesn’t pay much attention to because his fingers trace over the planes of Zayn’s chest, over brown nipples and they slide even lower.

Zayn’s against him again, kissing along his neck, sucking impatiently against Liam’s birthmark until Liam feels something burst inside of him.  Zayn’s hands are between them, fumbling with the button of his jeans and Liam’s hands are dragging along Zayn’s shoulders, panting into his hair.  It feels soft, like he thought it would, tickling his cheeks and nose.

“Fuck,” Zayn hisses, Liam’s thumbs massaging the nape of Zayn’s neck and when the button pops open, Zayn’s dragging his jeans down.

Liam doesn’t look down, fear gripping him because he knows he’s flushed all over and his cock is tenting his boxers.

“Amazing,” Zayn whispers, words sticking to Liam’s skin as Zayn drags his lips over Liam’s chest.

“You too,” Liam stutters out, loves the way that skin is almost cerulean against the moon’s light.

It’s a pulse, staccato and Liam’s breathing feels that way – _I’m gonna love you like I’ve never been hurt before. I’m gonna love you like I’m indestructible_.  He cups Zayn’s chin, drags Zayn up that short distance until their lips crash together again, thunder rumbling in the back of his mind.

He doesn’t struggle like Zayn does when he goes to pull down Zayn’s pants.  It comes almost like instinct though it’s been far too long since he’s had to do this.  A flick of the wrist, two fingers, zipper dragging and the sound is rattling against the walls of the hotel room.  Zayn’s hands on his shoulder, digging in as he stumbles out of his jeans and Liam giggles into Zayn’s cheek, kissing chastely until Zayn growls, pushing Liam back with a playful grin.

“I’m going to ruin you,” Zayn grins.

Liam snorts, easing down onto the bed.  “You already have.”

“Really?”

Liam drags a hand shyly over his face, certain his cheeks are glowing rose in the dark.  “Yeah.”

“You too,” Zayn whispers, slowly dragging his boxer-briefs down until they’re pooled around his ankles.  “I think you have too.”

Liam smiles at that, nothing artful or even the least bit seductive.  It’s merely appreciative in a way he’s sure he’ll never be able to explain to Zayn.

It takes him a beat before he takes it all in, the sight of Zayn naked before him.  The flatness of Zayn’s stomach, no defined muscles but they’re there; Liam can see each one.  His arms are small but there’s definite definition there.  Hands large, hips slender but Liam imagines Zayn doing fantastically magical things with them.  His cock sticks straight out from a neatly trimmed patch of black hair, foreskin being pulled back by Zayn’s fingers, thumb running over the head and Liam shudders at that.  His legs are small too, hair lightly spread over them and everything starts to fade when Zayn inches closer and lowers to his knees.

“I can suck you,” Zayn says quietly, his voice husked in a deepness that rolls butterflies through Liam’s stomach.

“Yeah.”

“I want to,” Zayn adds just for good measure.

Liam nods, shivers when Zayn’s hand palms him through his boxers.  All those stupid Batman emblems make him feel like a five year old but Zayn grins at them, pulls recklessly at Liam until Liam’s head rolls back a little and he knows he’ll probably come just from the way Zayn drags that damn tongue over his lips.

He watches Zayn through his lashes, legs spreading.  He feels cheap just for a second but Zayn’s grinning, pulling at Liam’s boxers.  They drag, catch on the head of Liam’s cock, and Liam has to lift his lips so Zayn can pull them the rest of the way.  His fingers dig into the duvet beneath him, breathing way too fast.

“Beautiful,” Zayn whispers, at least Liam thinks he does because he can’t really make out the words over the sound of his heart slamming against his ears like the best kind of dance song.

Zayn’s fingers curl around his cock, hold it loosely and Liam’s toes curl at the slow drag as those fingers stroke Liam.

“Wait,” Liam breathes out, doesn’t even recognize his own voice because it’s a bit broken.

Zayn blinks at him, nipping at his bottom lip.  It’s incredibly adorable and Liam reminds himself to memorize that look.

“I want to, too,” Liam says, stumbling on his own words.  He slides his fingers through Zayn’s hair, breathes a little easier when Zayn doesn’t seem to jerk away from the touch.

“You what?”

Liam sighs.  “I want to suck you too.  Can we, uhm, maybe,” Liam makes hand gestures that he knows don’t make sense, “Can I suck you off while you suck me?”

Zayn’s eyes go wide, mouth falling open and Liam feels embarrassment rush over him in the most uncomfortable way.

“You want to,” Zayn starts, swallowing and he looks thoughtful about it.  “You want to give and receive?”

Liam chuckles, foot nudging Zayn’s hip.  “Yes.”

Zayn nods slowly like he’s still processing it all but then he’s standing, pushing at Liam’s hip until he scoots back and makes room on the massive bed for Zayn to fit on.

“That’s fucking hot,” Zayn says, dropping down with his hands on either side of Liam’s head, draped over him.  He smirks, sickeningly devilish before he drags his lips over Liam’s.  “Fuck, I want that.”

“I want you,” Liam whispers back, smiling against Zayn’s mouth.  “In my mouth.  Want to give you head.  Want you to beg me to stop.”

Zayn snorts.  “Probably won’t happen.”

“You never know,” Liam says, licking his lips and he can barely see the gold in Zayn’s eyes now.  They’re dark, pinning Liam to the bed with just the way they’re focused on him.

“Show me,” Zayn dares, lopsided grin on his full lips.

“You too,” Liam says right back, hand on the back of Zayn’s neck and he thinks about pulling him down for another kiss.  “Show me everything.  Just, fuck Zayn, show me _you_.”

Zayn snickers at that, doesn’t say anything else and Liam wonders if maybe it’s too much.  But then Zayn is adjusting, turning and laying on his side with his feet past Liam’s head and his cock is right there, throbbing.

Liam gasps when Zayn’s fingers wrap around him again, doesn’t peek down to know Zayn’s licking at his lips, making them soft and wet.  He feels Liam’s breath on his cock, palming at his inner thigh as Liam reaches forward, takes hold of Zayn.

He’s tentative, slow lick of the head, tastes bittersweet precome that he swallows before rolling his tongue slowly over Zayn.  He traces the crown, dragging right over the slit before he’s mouthing at Zayn’s cock while slowly jerking the rest.

Zayn’s not as gentle, not at first at least.  He takes the head in, deep inhale, tongue rolling over every piece of skin.  He’s pulling at the foreskin, giving himself more room and he’s sinking down until his lips kiss his thumb.  And then his hand slides further down, lips following like a game of chase.  His mouth is hot, feverish, teeth gently raking over the taunt skin and Liam forces himself not to push his cock the rest of the way into Zayn’s mouth before Zayn’s dripping salvia down his cock, stroking him with the head running the roof of Zayn’s mouth.

Liam kisses at Zayn’s cock, rubs it over his lips before swooping in to swallow Zayn halfway down.  Zayn groans, hard and thick around Liam, and Liam’s lips quirk around Zayn’s cock.  He takes a deep breath, doesn’t even know he can do this until he concentrates and his throat opens slowly for Zayn.

“Shit,” Zayn hisses, pulling off of Liam and Liam’s certain Zayn doesn’t mean to push but he does and that cock slips just a little further until it’s almost uncomfortable, tears wetting the corners of Liam’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn gasps, pulling himself back but Liam holds him, doesn’t let him get too far.

Liam’s eyes close tighter, pulling up and then easing back down until he has a rhythm going.  He rolls his hips, cock slipping out of Zayn’s wet hand before Zayn’s chuckling, gripping him tighter and stroking him feverishly while he kisses letters and numbers and fucking stars over Liam’s cock.

Liam holds Zayn’s cock in the side of his mouth, fingers gently rolling Zayn’s balls until Zayn’s a panting mess, hot breath soaking Liam’s thighs.  He eases off, his own breathing heavy and drawn out.  He blinks his eyes open, looks down to where Zayn’s kissing sweetly at his thighs, licking over the thick hair before sinking his teeth into the skin.

“Zayn,” Liam moans, body shaking before Zayn pulls back, licks at the head of Liam’s cock.

There’s a mark there, teeth marks along his thigh, a reminder from Zayn.  An imprint that Liam’s certain will bruise, turn purplish and Liam will see every time he showers or pulls down his pants.  He’ll see _Zayn_ there and he’ll think of the way Zayn’s head is buried between his legs right down, slurping and making noises that rattle against ears.

“Don’t stop,” Zayn commands but it comes out like a plea, like a prayer.

Liam nods but Zayn’s not looking at him.  He’s going as far as he can on Liam, jacking the rest until Liam’s rutting his hips with Zayn’s nose nuzzling his balls.

“Christ,” Liam groans, hauling his tongue along Zayn’s cock, down the vein on the underside.

Zayn’s breathing is rapid, quiet moans around Liam’s cock and his lips are swollen, slightly red when he pulls off Liam’s cock.  His thumb circles the head, once, twice, and Liam’s seeing double vision.

There’s sweat along Zayn’s forehead, his hair a complete wreck from Liam’s fingers in it, pushing Zayn’s head down.  It falls over his forehead, sticking out from the sides.  His cheeks are colored pink, lips wet and his eyelashes curl beautifully against his cheeks with his eyes closed, lips parted to exhale out deep breaths.

Liam feels the throb on his tongue, Zayn’s fingers tracing the outline of his cock through Liam’s cheek.  He rolls his hips, slowly pulling back until just the head rests of Liam’s tongue and its breathtaking the way Zayn bites back a moan, everything coming out hollowed and slow.

Liam swallows, sinks deeper and he feels the warning when Zayn pinches at his shoulder but it doesn’t register.  Not until thick liquid is spilling over his tongue, Zayn groaning into the bed’s sheets, pulling hard on Liam’s cock until he’s spurting, shaking with Zayn as he coats Zayn’s fingers.  And Liam swallows, slowly, face wincing at the taste but it’s too late now.  He’s owning this, licking slowly at the head of Zayn’s cock until he’s way too sensitive, jerking back with his cock popping from Liam’s lips loudly.

He rolls onto his back, still breathing heavy.  He knows they’re a mess, sticky come and sweat and everything that’s impossibly dirty in the most beautiful way.  He doesn’t know where Zayn wipes his hand, feels the movement on the bed and he doesn’t look at Zayn.  He keeps his eyes on the ceiling because he’s not in the mood to deal with his feelings, with how he’ll feel if he sees Zayn rolling off the bed to slide back into his clothes.

“Fuck,” Zayn groans and Liam jumps a little when the bed dips, Zayn falling onto his back next to him.

Liam turns his head a little, Zayn grinning before throwing an arm over Liam’s chest, a leg falling over Liam’s hip and they’re pressed together like that for seconds.

“I’m not saying it,” Zayn breathes out, face going impossibly still serious for a beat.

“Say what?”

“That you were good,” Zayn says with a shrug, scooting closer until he can bury his head into the space between Liam’s shoulder and neck.  “I don’t do that shit.”

Liam smirks, eyes falling shut.  He curls an arm underneath Zayn and around his back.  He hauls Zayn closer until Zayn’s laying half off the bed, half on Liam.

“Okay,” Liam whispers, turning his head a little to bury his nose in Zayn’s hair.  Vanilla and spearmint.

Zayn nuzzles his own nose to Liam’s skin, fingers running over Liam’s chest, tracing every indentation and curve.

“Don’t take a piss at me,” Zayn starts, words mumbled into Liam’s neck, “I like to cuddle.”

Liam throws a hand over his mouth to hold in a laugh, body shivering.  He nods, knows Zayn can’t see him.  He feels Zayn flick his chest though, snorts at that.

“You’re going to stay, yeah?” Liam asks, words feeling fragile against his tongue.

He knows why he asks, knows he probably shouldn’t because he was fortunate Zayn had stayed this long, given him this much.  But he has to know.  He has to know if he should even get used to this feeling, the way Zayn feels against him, in his half-embrace.  He has to know if Zayn will even bother to remember him when they’re both very much sober and this close.

“Stay,” Zayn yawns out, head dipping.  “I’ll stay.”

Liam nods again, eyes on the ceiling again.  He listens for the way Zayn’s breathing evens out, tips his head down some to press his lips to Zayn’s temple.

It’ll be different in the morning.  Zayn will probably be gone.  But _this_ , this moment, he doesn’t mind remembering.  The way Zayn mumbles something, rolling until he’s on top of Liam, Liam securing both of his arms around Zayn now – he won’t mind holding onto that memory at all.

**

He doesn’t know how long he holds his breath, but when it rushes out of his body, he feels alive and swimming in awe swirled with fear.

Oranges, pinks, flowing blues run the length of the sky.  The sun is a ball of tangerine behind the clouds, trying to peek its way through and streak the sky in shades of pale yellow rounded by rose.  All of the clouds dance along in shapes and wild lines that look like strokes from a paintbrush.  Everything is ripples in the sky, purples at the highest peak, everything dancing along the window and peeking through those far too thick curtains Liam forgot the close that night.

His breath slides into a stutter as he watches, a chest rising and falling slowly next to him.  He’s propped up on his elbow, head resting against his knuckles as he looks down.  The duvet is pulled back just enough to hide the lower half of Zayn’s body, Liam wondering which one of them slid it over their bodies in the night.  It didn’t matter, not when Zayn was lying across his hotel bed, on his back, head turned toward Liam with eyes still closed.

His mind is still a haze, broke images of kisses, hands roaming, lips parted to breathe out moans before drawing into curled up smiles as they descended over hard flesh, tasting sweetness from a cock.  There’s a throb, too much alcohol, right along the front of his head but its dulled whenever he looks on Zayn, remembers it all second by second like slow motion photography.

Zayn’s hand is over his chest, peeking just out of the edge of the duvet.  The streams of light from the rising sun dance along Zayn’s features.  His hair is down, fucked in a breathtaking way, falling over his forehead.  His eyebrows look thicker, scruff too which coats his jawline, right along his chin and there’s a thick line over Zayn’s top lip.  The curve of his nose, the way his lips are pressed softly together, it’s all falling into a glow from the reaching sun.

Liam’s eyes run over Zayn’s chest, his shoulders, bottom lip gripped by his teeth as his fingers itch to touch.  There’s skulls on either shoulder, _‘Friday?’_ scribbled in messy handwriting right below his collarbone.  He eyes run the length of the wings, grins when looking down at his own arm, turning to look at the large feather stroking the inside of his forearm; it’s some sort of fated coincidence.  Those eyelashes, pressed together, are a line of darkness that usually frame Zayn’s eyes but instead they cling to his cheeks.  He smiles to himself, wonders when Zayn became so soft like the music in his head – _Good morning.  Watch the sun come up._

Liam swallows, slow breath outward as his fingers push fridges of inky hair from Zayn’s forehead, light movements as they stroke over skin.  He smiles sideways, Zayn shifting only a little with soft breaths.  Those lips, he remembers their softness and the way everything inside of him ached every time Zayn pushed them up against his own.  And now, closed and even fuller than they were last night, Liam wonders if they tasted just the same.  Everything anchors him downward, holds him there as Zayn sleeps, oranges and pinks casting shadows over Zayn’s face and Liam can’t stop looking, not if he had to.

There’s a playing card to the side of Zayn’s chest, right along his ribs.  Liam runs his thumb over it, breath hitching when Zayn shifts again but his eyes remain closed.  He’s beautiful, catching all of Liam’s feelings in his throat.

Zayn sighs quietly, tongue instinctively licking out to wet lips and he’s turning, facing closer to Liam with fingers reaching out, eyes still shut.  Liam holds his breath again, shakes softly when Zayn’s fingers curl around his wrist, smiling in his sleep.  Liam breathes, smirks and lets Zayn’s fingers dig into his skin – _Its calling.  I want just one more day with you_.

The images are too much, threaten to ruin Liam with every slow inhale Zayn takes.  He settles back down into the sheets, inches forward without thinking.  He presses a soft kiss to Zayn’s lips, holds there just to feel their softness, the way they feel nothing like last night.  Last night was desperate, rough, _hungry_.  This is chaste, delicate, impossibly easy until Zayn’s pulling back, eyes wide.

Those pupils are blown wide, Liam inching back from Zayn as Zayn’s fingers uncurl from his wrist.  He yawns, stretches and Liam watches, ready for reality to settle in.

“It’s early,” Zayn murmurs, dragging his hand through his hair until it’s all off of his forehead.

Liam nods.  “A little after seven.”

“Too early,” Zayn whines, pushing his head into one of the pillows and his eyes slide shut again.  “ _Why_ are you even up?”

“I don’t know,” Liam says because it’s the only thing he can think to say.

“You shouldn’t be.  This is a dreadful hour to be awake.  Fucking unlawful.”

Liam snorts, watches the way the corners of Zayn’s lips curl into a grin.

“Last night was – “

“I should go,” Zayn says quickly, eyes batting open.  Everything soft falls away, that glow dulled.

Liam balks at him, brow lowering and he’s not expecting that.  Not when Zayn had just given him a look, something like “I never want to leave your bed,” and Zayn’s pushing up, ruffling his hair again.

“What?”

Zayn nods, dragging back the duvet and disentangling himself from the sheets.

“My mum will kill me if I’m not there to help set up for the breakfast crowd,” Zayn insists, but it all feels like a lie.  It’s in Zayn’s eyes – an excuse.  And Zayn’s eyes are fleeting, never staying on Liam too long as he looks around, gathers up clothing.

“Right,” Liam says, eyes narrowed.  He rolls out of the bed, snatches his boxers from where they’re crumpled on the floor.

“But I – “

“ _Don’t,_ ” Liam says quickly, waving a hand dismissively.  He doesn’t want to hear it.  Shit, he doesn’t want some empty promise or half-ass compliment about having a good time because he’s certain he’s heard _that_ story before and it doesn’t exactly get better over time.

Zayn frowns a bit, eyeing Liam.  “What?”

“Just don’t Zayn,” Liam bites back with a shrug, turning away from Zayn because looking at that face wasn’t exactly making any of this easier.

He rummages through his bag, yanking out a pair of clean sweats and sliding into them as Zayn drags his jeans from the floor.  He glances over his shoulder, Zayn’s eyes on him still as he shimmies into his jeans.  He can’t read between that brown and gold, doesn’t think he should.  Zayn’s making it clear: He’s not staying.  He never was.

“I don’t do this,” Zayn motions his hand between himself and Liam, “thing.  Things like this.”

Liam’s eyes squint at him, nose wrinkling.  His arms fold over his chest and he feels the anger tighten around his heart.  “Well I don’t either.”

“Good,” Zayn says with a shrug, sliding into his t-shirt and he’s dragging slender fingers through his already wrecked hair.  It’s sort of sexy, if Liam even bothered to think anything was remotely sexy on Zayn, which it wasn’t right now.

Liam sighs, head shaking.  Everything is layered frustration now and all he wants is for Zayn to just leave, leave him with this dead feeling so he can push it away.  So he can crumble back into his bed, scream into the pillow until all of the anger fades and he can focus on everything except the fact that Zayn is slipping on his shoes, eyes no longer on Liam.

His teeth dig into his lip when Zayn stands with a low sigh, moving towards the door.  How easy it would be to push those words bubbling in his stomach through his throat.  Call to Zayn, convince him that, no, he could, he _should_ stay.  Just say it because, fuck, what daft person wouldn’t say it?

None of it made sense.  _He_ didn’t make sense.  And maybe that was the alcohol from last night that created the clarity that wasn’t really there.  Because the sunrise falling over Zayn’s face wasn’t as promising as it was minutes ago.  And his fingers curl into fists when Zayn pulls open the door, the buzz of regret hanging and Zayn turns to him, doesn’t have an inch of it on his face.  No, he’s okay with all of this, has to be because his lips don’t hang into a frown like Liam’s do for a second.

Zayn gives him a look, questioning for a moment – _Believe me, I wanna stay, but I’m off and away_.  He snorts, lips pushing sideways.

“What?” Liam snaps, anger sinking in again.  He needs Zayn to go, now.

Zayn lingers in the doorway, eyes giving Liam a once over that Liam balks at but there’s blush threatening to overtake his cheeks.

Zayn snorts, head shaking.  “Enjoy your birthday weekend Liam.  I’m sure it’ll be great.”

Liam sighs, watches Zayn slip out of the door and he doesn’t know why he’s marching toward the door other than to slam it shut and be done with Zayn.  Maybe when he was gone, out of Liam’s sight, he truly could enjoy every moment of his birthday without thinking about foolish things like screwing around with a boy he hardly knew.

Liam hangs in the doorway though, watches Zayn duck into the lift when it pings and the doors slide open.  There’s a door swinging open nearby and closing with a bang, Liam’s eyes averting from Zayn just as Zayn looks up.  He eyes Harry instead who stomps toward the lift, hands rolled into fists while grumbling.  His shoulders are slumped and there’s nothing about his stride that was eased and careless like usual.

When Harry slips into the lift with Zayn, he hurls his body against the wall and his fingers grip onto the metal railing until they’re deathly white.  There’s a moment Liam’s certain he stops breathing and it happens just before Harry lifts his head, glancing at Zayn with wide eyes and a raised brow.  His mouth slips open, perfectly red lips forming an “O” before his head is jerking in Liam’s direction and then Zayn’s again.  Zayn looks a little pale, slouching back against the wall and Liam thinks being lightheaded was never a symptom of a hangover before.

There’s a beat, the doors starting to slowly close before Harry turns to him again, grin slicking his lips and the doors slide completely shut before Liam can say anything.  He knows he’s fucked in the worst kind of way and it’s not just because of the glint that was in Harry’s eyes.

It’s because the worst part of him now wishes Zayn would have stayed so that they could do _‘this thing’_ that they were not doing.

**

“Tequila is such a bad idea.”

“Incredibly bad,” Niall agrees with a mouthful of eggs and his fork pointed toward Louis.

“It should be banned in London,” Louis sighs.  His head is tossed back, laying back on his hotel bed surrounded by an avalanche of fluffy white pillows.

“Banned from Europe,” Niall nods, swallowing a bit of orange juice before tearing into some sausages.

“The _world_.  It should be banned from the world,” Louis snorts, fingers playing with the fringe fallen over his forehead, thick sunglasses pushed down his nose until he can look at Niall.  “Someone should get to work on that immediately.”

Liam eyes him, arms folded over his chest.  He slouches into the chair in the corner of the room, watching Niall rock happily back and forth with a pile of plates surrounding him on the end of Louis’ bed, mountains of food on each plate.  Niall doesn’t know the meaning of a hangover.  He’s always as bright and lively as he was before drinking.  Liam’s certain it’s unfair for one person to take as many shots as Niall does and have no after effect.

Maybe Niall’s a robot?

“Oi, this hotel tea is not as splendid as your mum’s tea Li,” Louis fusses, making a face as he sips from a large white mug.  He slides it back onto the bedside table, eyes sliding shut before singing, “My tea’s gone cold, I wonder why…”

Louis?  He knew the meaning of hangover, religiously.  It was almost routine, twice a month.  Way too many shots, too many sips of beer which he _hates_ and Liam will never understand why he even bothers to sip at it other than to look ridiculous for others.  Its colorful drinks, ones with cherries or umbrellas.  There’s lemons, limes, salt, sugar and phone calls with slurred words that Harry or Liam have to yawn through until Louis passes out in his University room.

The next day is worse with the complaining, nothing ever good enough even though it’s the same as it was the day before.  But Louis’ a prick like that.  An obnoxiously loveable one, but, still, a prick.

“Have you talked to El?” Liam wonders, eyes narrowing a little when Louis pushes those sunglasses back, groaning at the sun trickling rays of light through the curtains.

“Hmm?”

“Your girlfriend,” Liam says slowly, annoyed.  “Eleanor Calder.  Remember her?”

“Oi, of course I do you twat,” Louis gripes, waving his hand at Liam but he doesn’t bother to look up.

“And?”

“I don’t know.  Shot her a text sometime this morning.  I’m sure she’ll want a chat soon,” Louis says unevenly.  His lips purse, pushing himself on his elbows.

“Did you make sure she at least made it to her flat safely?” Liam asks, eyes catching the way Niall’s fall into one of his plates with blush riding his cheeks.

“Niall did.  Good mate that guy,” Louis replies, his voice still uninterested.  He glares at Liam, blue eyes a dark cobalt.  “How’d _you_ get back?”

“Walked,” Liam says flatly.  That look Louis gives him does little to move him.  There’s far more concerning things flooding his mind.

“By yourself?” Niall wonders, his voice strangled.

Liam shoots him a look, eyes narrowed and Niall’s go wide, grinning.  Liam shakes his head, sighing.

“ _Not_ by yourself,” Niall declares, a thicker grin on his lips now.

“You shit,” Louis gasps, pointing at Liam.  “Who was it?  Cher?  Did Danielle come back?  Oh God, don’t let it have been some random bloke.”

“It was nobody,” Liam snaps.  He doesn’t mean to but Louis seems unfazed by it.

“Nobody,” Niall snorts, crunching on some bacon.  Liam flips him off, sliding further down the chair.

He wants it to be nobody.  Yeah, he wants it to be some nameless mistake he made because that would make things impossibly easier for him.  All of the thoughts tick-tock every time he tries to push them out and it’s as if Zayn’s name is written across the back of his eyelids because each time he tries to close his eyes just to concentrate on anything else, it seems Zayn is all he thinks about.  And telling his best mate, the one who practically forbid Liam from falling so foolishly for anyone ever since Aiden, doesn’t feel like the kind of secret that’s going to win him any brownie points.

“Oh God, is it – “

“Where’s Hazza?” Liam asks with a hiss, cutting Louis off.  Louis’s eyes go wide, fingers digging into one of the many pillows housing him into a little box on his bed.

“Don’t know.  Called up his room.  No answer,” Niall replies with a shrug but Liam’s still eyeing Louis.

Louis is clutching one of the pillows now, breathing into it like an eight year old scared of the dark.  And it’s what Louis did.  He avoided things, like homework, or telling his parents things, or boys like Harry Styles who leave him a nice pale shade of white with wide eyes, a trembling bottom lip, and fingers digging a little too deep into expensive hotel pillows.

“He’s still coming to the game, yeah?” Liam inquires, pulling his eyes from Louis.

“Of course,” Louis squeaks out, chucking his pillow at Niall’s head when he giggles.  “Fuck off.”

“Douchebag,” Niall grumbles, swallowing some more orange juice before picking at a biscuit.

“That hipster, curly-haired, green-eyed little twat will be there,” Louis says, ignoring Niall.  He pulls up two more pillows, hugging them, blue eyes going soft.

It’s what they did; Louis and Harry.  They fought, loud and openly or silently with looks that were hurtful when they weren’t supposed to be.  They didn’t talk, some times for days.  Louis plays his music particularly loud those days, which is mostly all songs by Robyn or Carly Rae Jepsen or, on the best days, a string of songs by Joni Mitchell.  Harry nearly locks himself away in his room, only letting Liam in because, well, Liam doesn’t say much.  He sits there while Harry broods, cursing Louis’ name under his breath before throwing on a beanie and sulking to the sound of Kurt Cobain on the stereo.

But by a Friday, no one could ever tell anything happened because they were all giggles, hands touching everywhere with Louis’ face buried in Harry’s neck.  Louis would string his fingers into Harry’s curls, making a joke about something no one really pays attention to but Liam watches the way Harry’s fingers slip just beneath the hem of Louis’ shirt and massage at the small of Louis’ back.  He sees the way those green eyes are soft like clouds moving in front of the stars.

He feels sorry for Harry.  Never bothers to tell him, but he does.

“Enough about that,” Louis insists, clapping his hands in front of himself.  He’s got that grin, the one that Liam doesn’t trust but goes along with because arguing with Louis wasn’t worth it most times.

“There is still much fun to be had for your birthday,” Louis grins out, eyes going even darker.

“Which, incidentally, is on – “

“Oh shut it Li.  We get it,” Louis sighs, dragging his hand backwards over his hair until all of that soft fringe is pushed back, aging Louis just that quick.

“We do,” Niall agrees, nodding with his mouth stuffed with even more food.

“Anyway,” Louis says immediately, rolling off the bed.  “We have a smashing game to go to where I shall royally hand the other team their asses.  Then dinner and what do you lot say to a night on the town?  I know of a few good bars we could get massively shitfaced at.”

Liam groans but doesn’t hide his grin from them.

“Bar hopping?” Niall asks, cheeks spread wide with a grin.  When Louis nods, Niall puts a fist into the air.  “Sounds brilliant.”

“Sounds painful,” Liam disagrees.

“Same difference,” Louis replies with a shrug.

“Only when you two are involved,” Liam says with a quiet sigh, leaning forward in the chair to look at Louis, then Niall.

“You can’t deny the epic debauchery that follows the Captain and Tommo,” Louis barks out, throwing an arm around a nodding Niall.

“Is that the description for your new reality show?”

Louis flips him off, head shaking.  “We’re all you’ve got Liam.  Accept it.”

“Yep,” Niall mumbles out, nodding pleasantly.

Liam rolls his eyes, slinks back into the chair before nodding.  It was true, most days.  In fact, it was quite possibly the most annoying and lovely thing that Liam has in his life: his friends.  Harry, too.  Yet, those moments when he needs it the most, he doesn’t.  Like this one, where Liam really just wants to go home and forget about some stupid boy with hair that Liam wants to twist his fingers in, tattoos that Liam wants to rub all over, lips he can’t help thinking about kissing.  His friends wouldn’t get that; not entirely.

But Liam’s certain he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**

The skies are streaked in gray, the way it looks when it’s about to rain, but it’s not.  Liam knows because he’s checked the weather at least three times on his phone since they arrived to the University stadium.  The air is thickly warm, not that sizzling heat it is around June, but just warm enough where no one wears a coat or gripes about sweating to death from walking two feet.

There’s a buzz in the stadium, the crowd split obviously between the two teams, a sprinkling of neutral parties all around who cheer from both and get a neat row of profanity thrown at them when they cheer for the ‘wrong team.’  They’re just enough rows back from the pitch that Louis hears Niall every single time he howls for Louis or the way Eleanor shouts at the other team for daring to block one of Louis’ attempts at making a goal.  Harry’s not there, not yet, but he’s sent Liam at least a dozen texts about being on the way which Liam believes because, like Louis said, Harry wouldn’t dare miss the game.

Louis is a relentless player on the field.  He’s something else, the way he plays with more effort than anything he does in life.  He’s got talent, Liam’s always known, but there’s an air about him when he slides along that turf or the way he’s always cheering on his teammates from the sidelines, Gatorade spat from his mouth when the ref doesn’t make the right call on the field.  He’s a blur of black and white when he’s in play, making saves and setting up plays that are complicated but effective.  He’s energetic like fireworks in the sky, all sparks and explosions of movement.

He drags his hand through his hair, glancing over his shoulder occasionally to smile at them before grinning right at Liam as if every play is for them.  Every goal, every block.  Liam’s on the field with him in those moments, living every breath of that game.  Louis gives him that much and it’s the main reason Liam never misses a game.

He’s scrolling through his phone, the music kicking up in the stadium between timeouts.  When Niall calls out loudly for Harry, lap too crowded with snacks and food to stand, Liam peeks up – _And the love kickstarts again_ – finds big green eyes, curls pulled behind a beanie with a rippling grin on his lips.  He’s got an old Ramones t-shirt on, jeans too tight but Liam bypasses all of that to spot the people following closely behind Harry.

He recognizes Nick, one of Harry’s friends from Manchester.  He’s some sort of radio personality in London now, not that Liam has had enough conversations with Nick to care.  Nick’s rather fond of Harry, the two a blur of laughter, stupid jokes, whispers where their faces are way too close with smiles licking their lips.  Louis hates the guy, says it way too often when he, Niall, and Liam are alone but never to Harry because they’re all aware Harry is painfully fond of Nick.  But Liam’s almost certain that Louis doesn’t hate Nick because his laugh is annoying or because he’s quite daft when it comes to, you know, _‘normal things.’_   No, Liam decides Louis hates Nick because Nick is gay, openly so, and he gets way too much affection from Harry in front of Louis, often stealing all of Harry’s attention even when Louis does his best to own every little piece of Harry’s gaze any time they’re around each other.

Liam swallows hard, breath hitched when he spots who’s behind Nick.  It doesn’t take much to notice that dark hair isn’t pulled up into a quiff, but styled messily in a multitude of directions and black spikes.  He has his head bowed, jaw tense and that scruff is still thick along his cheeks and jaw.  There’s a denim jacket, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, over a Green Lantern t-shirt and Liam doesn’t feel quite as bad wearing his silly Superman emblem tee, though he does feel a little ridiculous with the Superman belt buckle and boxers on underneath his jeans but he’s not telling.

When Zayn looks up, the light reflecting off those hazelnut eyes, Liam’s stomach drops.  He’s quite certain he’s going to kill Harry.

Harry and Nick drop down into the seats a row behind Liam, Harry grinning down at Liam when Liam glares at him.  Zayn awkwardly slips into the only seat left, the one that’s right next to Liam.  Liam sucks in a breath, considers dumping his entire bag of popcorn over Harry’s head, possibly Zayn’s, but then Louis’ making another play, streaking down the field like lightning and everyone’s too busy cheering him for Liam to give it much attention.

Everyone except Zayn who kicks his feet up on the seats in front of him and slouches, watching like he doesn’t care.

“Why are you here?” Liam asks when he finds his seat again, Eleanor and Niall still standing to root for Louis who throws them all a wave.  Liam pretends not to see the way Louis’ face gets a little brighter when he finds Harry in the stands.

“I invited him,” Harry chimes, clapping his hands onto Liam’s shoulders.  Liam shrugs him off.

“Do you want me to go or something?” Zayn asks, eyebrow raising.

Liam gives him a look, sighing.  “No.”

Zayn grins like he’s won something and, yeah, Liam thinks punching Zayn sounds a lot better than throwing popcorn at him.

“We had a chat on the lift this morning,” Liam goes a little white, slouching in his eat, “I suggested he come out, have a little fun,” Harry adds, toying with Liam’s hair until Liam jerks his head away.  He can feel Harry’s grin from behind him.

“The Infamous Nobody,” Niall snickers out, grinning victoriously with his mouthful.

Liam kind of hates Niall too.  Not as much as Harry, but still.

“Do you watch much football?” Eleanor asks curiously, leaning forward to look on Zayn.

Zayn shrugs.  “Not really into it.  My baba is.  Massively.”

“Figures,” Liam mutters, tossing a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth.

Zayn rolls his eyes, leaning forward a bit more to look at Eleanor.  “Though I’m quite into physical things.  I fancy breaking a good sweat while, well, you know.”

Liam’s eyes go wide, eyes forward but he spots the way Eleanor’s cheeks go almost as red as his as she leans back, giggle hidden behind her hand.

“Bloody fuck,” Niall whistles, making a face at Liam, smirking when Liam flips him off.

“We need drinks,” Harry announces with a laugh, standing.  Nick follows, both inching their way through the stands and Liam thinks maybe he should get up too, just to get some water.  Or just to get away from Zayn.

“Do you really mind that I’m here?” Zayn asks lowly, slinking down into his own chair, his shoulder pressed to Liam’s.

Fuck, Liam wants that heat so much closer now.

“I don’t care,” Liam replies noncommittally.  He gives Zayn a small shrug, still watching the pitch even though nothing’s happening out there.  “Doesn’t matter to me since, you know, you don’t do ‘this thing’ anyway.”

“You don’t either,” Zayn hisses back.  “At least, that’s what you said.”

“I know what I said,” Liam snaps, half-turning to look at Zayn now.

Zayn hums, nods slowly at Liam.  Liam hates the way there’s a smoothness to Zayn’s expression, an uneven one that’s not in the least bit cocky like he’s sure Zayn is.  He has to be to be Zayn.

When Harry and Nick return, there’s cups of beer passed around.  Liam waves off the one offered to him, Niall happily reaching across Eleanor to take it for himself.  Zayn doesn’t take one either, though he snatches a bottled water from under Harry’s arm, grinning at Liam.  Liam rolls his eyes, leaning forward in his seat to watch Louis intently.

Harry’s cheers for Louis are much louder than Niall’s.  He practically crawling over seats, standing up on empty ones with his arms thrown up and howling like some sort of beast.  Niall laughs at it, chugging back flat beer while Eleanor sinks a little in her chair, merely clapping now.  Liam joins in more than once, egging Louis on until he makes a goal.  He plays with even more abandon now, Liam grinning the entire time because he knows why.  He knows its Harry and, if anything, Liam knows that feeling.  The want to be better for someone other than yourself.

After Liam sinks back into his seat, brushing a hand over his hair, a hand slides over his thigh and he wishes it was Eleanor’s.  He shoots Zayn an incredulous look but Zayn’s busy watching the game, smiling softly.  Liam doesn’t yank the hand away, instead leaning into Eleanor, smiling into her shoulder until she’s grinning down at him.

Liam doesn’t know why, but midway through a play, he slips a hand on top of Zayn’s – _Look into your eyes, imagine life without you._ He wants it to be an accident, almost convinces himself it is, but he knows it’s on purpose.  Their hands are high on his thigh, his fingers fitting between Zayn’s and nothing is said about it.  They both just watch the game, cheering for Louis and even Zayn gets loud enough when another player trips Louis on the field, a score of profanity that makes Liam blush but Eleanor’s joining him, standing and tossing her hair back.

“Think he’s okay?” Harry asks, concern running through his voice.

“That bloke is right beat,” Niall says, gulping down the last of Liam’s untouched beer.

“He’s fine,” Liam insists, feels the way Harry leans in from behind to wrap an arm around Liam’s neck.  “He’s a fighter.”

Eleanor nods, doesn’t look at Harry.  Liam wonders if her heart sinks when Louis pops up and gives a thumbs up to Liam before nodding at Harry.

“Do you play?” Zayn inquires, leaning far too close and Liam feels his breath hold tight in his chest.

He looks at Zayn, sun dipping into those eyes.  It’s all freckled gold over brown.  “Sometimes.”

“Hmm,” Zayn nods, biting down on his lower lip.  “Sex in a uniform.”

Liam rolls his eyes but a grin betrays him.  He nudges Zayn’s shoulder and, shit, he needs to get away from him before he considers asking to borrow Louis’ spare uniform later for things he can’t say out loud.

“And that sounds like a cue for more beer,” Harry says with a gleam, leaning off of Liam and Liam’s cheeks go wickedly red, head ducking.

“Fantastic idea,” Nick slurs out, tossing an arm around Harry’s shoulders.  Liam knows Nick’s a lightweight; usually half a beer has him ready to strip naked and run the streets naked.  But he’s leaning up, whispering into Harry’s ear, Harry smirking with blush running his cheeks and Liam misses it when Louis kicks the ball way to the left but he doesn’t miss the way Eleanor fusses at him while half the crowd boos.

“Shit.  He’s not going to be happy about that later,” Niall hiccups out, inching an arm around Eleanor’s tense shoulders.  He rests his chin on her shoulder while she eyes Louis, head shaking.

“He’ll be fine,” Liam says again, trying to convince himself more than anyone.  He doesn’t admit that he knows Louis’ probably going to use it as an excuse to have three too many shots later but he’s comforted when Zayn’s fingers squeeze at his thigh softly.

“How long have you two, you know,” Zayn says, making a hand motion between Niall and Eleanor, “been together?”

Eleanor looks at him curiously while Niall balks, jerking back.  Liam swallows, well, he tries to but the way Niall’s eyes narrow with his lips squeezing together, everything gets lodged into his throat.

“We’re not – “ Eleanor starts, shoulders slumping.

“There’s nothing going on here, mate,” Niall cuts in, words come out in a hiss.

Zayn nods slowly, trading glances between Eleanor and Niall.  He grins tightly, leaning forward.

“But you two act like – “

“Like _what?_ ” Niall demands, a plastic cup crunching between his fingers.

Liam rarely sees Niall angry.  In fact, he can name only three times and the end result was never something Liam wants to remember.

“I’m with Louis,” Eleanor says flatly, slinking back into her seat.

“Louis?  He’s not with – “

Liam cuts him off by pulling his hand away, dragging out a sigh.  “ _Zayn._ ”

Zayn shrugs, jerks his hand into his own lap.  “I just thought, you know, the way you look at her,” Zayn says, eyes on Niall who glaring at Zayn now.  “It seemed kind of obvious.”

“Obvious that what?” Eleanor wonders.  She’s a smart girl, really, but Liam can’t help but think she’s completely daft when it comes to Niall.

“Do you like her?” Zayn asks and it was Liam’s turn to balk at him now, eyes wide with his mouth falling open.

“What?”

Zayn snorts, leaning back into his chair.  He takes a swallow of water.  “You like her.”

Eleanor pushes her hair back, chancing a timid look at Niall who’s incredibly red and Liam’s not sure if it’s from rage or embarrassment but he’s certain they’re working hand-in-hand inside of Niall right about now.

“Fuck off,” Niall grumbles, fingers finally cracking the plastic cup he’s been gripping.

“I don’t see why it’s so hard to say,” Zayn sighs.

Liam’s eyes go small, head shaking.  He doesn’t know what Zayn’s trying to prove, but it doesn’t matter.  He just wants him to get up, go find Harry or do anything but speak.  And it’s just that sneer Zayn has on his lips, the way he’s twisting the cap to his water bottle back and forth, the doesn’t give two shits attitude that has Liam remembering just why he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him in the first place.

“It’s not hard to say,” Niall finally admits and Liam’s head is snapping in Niall’s direction, words stuck in his throat before Niall adds, “I think she’s lovely.  She’s quite ace, mate.  And she’s fit.  Any guy would be lucky to have her around.  In fact, I’m arse over tit about her and, fuck it, I don’t have a problem letting her or some dumb wanker like yourself know that.”

Liam drags a hand down his face.  He can’t look at Niall for too long, not the way those blue eyes were rimmed with resentment and the way Niall looks angry and broken all at once.  It was something right out of one of those silly daytime soaps Louis makes him watch when they’re crowded on Louis’ couch, Louis smiling as Liam drifts to sleep when someone slaps someone else.

He thinks about pulling Niall aside, letting them exhale all of the anger but he hears the rattling of plastic and things dropping before Niall’s hopping out of his seat and climbing over empty seats to stomp away.  He hears the plastic seat next to him creek, Eleanor slinking further down and he thinks, yeah, he could definitely punch Zayn and not feel bad about it.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Liam hisses lowly at Zayn.

Zayn shoots him a disbelieving look, leaning back.  He runs his teeth along his bottom lip, disappointment setting in.

“I just asked a question,” Zayn retorts.

“No, you were a complete dick.  And for what?  To prove a point?  To completely embarrass my friend?” Liam snaps, shoulders set and his hands have rolled into fists.

“No.”

“Then what for?” Liam demands, his voice raised.  He hears the way Eleanor slips out of her seat, mumbling something about needing a drink but Liam doesn’t turn to face her.  He’s too busy glaring at Zayn with a curled lip.

Zayn shakes his head, pulls his pack of cigarettes from the front packet of his jacket.  He stands, pulling his lighter from his back pocket.  “I need to smoke.”

“You need to go.”

Zayn’s eyes go wide, mouth gaping.  Liam refuses to take pity.  He keeps his jaw tightened, eyes narrowed and Zayn’s face falls a little.

“Whatever,” he finally mutters, pushing past Liam.

Liam sighs, slides low in his seat.  He catches Louis looking at him inquisitively from the pitch and that’s when Liam realizes he’s all alone in the stands.

He thinks maybe he was alone before any of this ever happened.

Harry finds him a little later, the game over now, and he’s pacing around the concession area because he doesn’t know what else to do while waiting for Louis to emerge from the locker room.  He’s called Niall twice, but keeps getting voicemail.  He hasn’t seen Eleanor, quite certain she’s caught a cab back to her flat but he doesn’t call her.  He knows better.

Harry drops a hand on his shoulder, holds him in place and it takes Liam a few beats before he lifts his eyes, exhaustion setting in when he tries to smile for Harry.  It doesn’t work but Harry grins softly at him, that impossibly calm side of Harry that Liam envied as much as he appreciated it.

Harry’s always the calm when Liam can’t be.  It’s a role they silently agreed to maintain when the other was incapable of it.  And though Liam doesn’t always think Harry offers the sagest of advice, like when he told Niall to fuck the next available girl after his last girlfriend broke up with him, which happened to be Cher of all choices, he knows Harry means as well as Liam does.  It’s just the way Harry gives people that look, with those eyes and cherry lips slipped into the kind of smile that no one ignores.  Not even Liam, even though he’s trying to right now.

“Niall caught a cab, took El back to her place.  Says he’ll meet up with us later,” Harry explains as if he knows what Liam is thinking before he says it.

Liam sighs, kicking his foot backward before leaning on the nearest brick wall which has faded paint and a really awful look to it.  He nods for Harry, lips twisting to the side as he stares straight ahead.

“What a weekend,” Liam sighs out.

Harry laughs, nods.  He eases up to the wall with Liam, linking a few of their fingers together.

“Lou wouldn’t have it any other way,” Harry teases.

Liam snorts, nods slowly.  “I don’t think he had that last part planned out.”

“Or _any_ of this,” Harry chuckles, nudging Liam’s shoulder with his own.

“You think El will tell him?”

Harry shrugs, a thoughtful look rolling over his face.  “Probably not.  Niall might.”

Liam nods.  He knows Niall will.  Niall’s good with secrets but probably because he doesn’t remember half of the ones they tell him.  But once they’re out, Niall doesn’t let them stay even partially hidden.

“I don’t think it matters,” Liam breathes out, chin tilting upward.  “I don’t think he’s in love with her anymore.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Liam huffs out.  He turns his head a little, letting it roll against the wall until he can look into Harry’s large eyes.  He grins.  “You know it too, don’t you?”

Harry shrugs again, smiles with Liam.  “Can’t really say.”

Liam pushes out a laugh.  He kicks playfully at Harry’s foot, watches the way Harry tries desperately to play nonchalant but it’s written right there in his smile.  Harry’s never been good at secrets either.

“He’s not that bad, Liam,” Harry states, his face losing some of that lightheartedness.

Liam quirks his eyebrow, thinks it through before frowning.  “He’s an ass, Haz.”

Harry snorts, nodding.  “Aren’t we all?”

“No,” Liam says back quickly.  “And if we are, he’s the perfect definition of it.”

“He’s honest.  He’s got his own issues,” Harry notes.

“You say it like you know him,” Liam sighs out, lifting his eyes from Harry.  He watches a crowd pass by, loud talking and cheering, sporting Louis’ team colors.  He grins at them, nodding at a few.

“I don’t.  Not entirely.  But at least I talked to him, Liam.  You’re too busy not giving him the benefit of the doubt to know any better,” Harry argues softly.  There’s no malice behind his words, Liam knows.  It’s just Harry.  He’s the kind of honesty no one wants to deal with but has to.

“It doesn’t matter,” Liam declares, biting at his lip.  “He’s just a one off.”

“You don’t do one offs Liam,” Harry states.

He doesn’t, but he refuses to say that to Harry.  He has to convince someone he isn’t lying because he’s doing a rather shitty job at convincing himself.

“Maybe I’m starting now.”

“Oh, is that what you’re telling yourself?  Aww, bless,” Harry says back, perked up grin on his lips.

“Do you even think it’s a good idea for me to do this, you know, _‘thing’_ with him knowing we’re just here for the weekend?” Liam asks, a frown tugging at his lips.  He turns his eyes back on Harry, sighing.  “We leave tomorrow evening.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Harry answers, fixing their fingers until Harry’s are between each of his and Harry gives his hand a comforting squeeze.  “But not because he’s here in London and you’re not.”

“Hmm,” Liam hums.

“It’s because things between you and Danielle just ended – “

“We’ve _been_ over,” Liam corrects him but Harry rolls his eyes, holding up his other hand in annoyance.

“Whatever,” Harry bites back.  “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to start something new unless you’re certain he’s not going to just be a replacement for her.”

Liam nods slowly, chews on his lip again.  He smiles at Harry, breathing out, “Are you giving me advice or Lou?”

Harry narrows his eyes at Liam with a grin.  “You know what?  You’d be perfect for him.  You’ve really mastered this whole being a prick thing very well.”

“Anything I know, I learned from Lou,” Liam tells him, sticky smile on his lips.

Harry nods with a laugh, pulling his hand from Liam’s.  He pushes off the wall, dusting himself off before dragging his fingers through his hair, fixing it carelessly but it’s as if his hair already knows to fall into place once he lowers his hands.

Music filters in from the stadium, Harry grinning when Louis comes bounding out of the locker rooms with his teammates, all noise and cheers that Liam grins at.  Harry jerks his head past them, Liam peeking past another small crowd to where Zayn’s walking up to them slowly, hands in the pocket of his jacket with a blank expression.  Liam sighs, shoots Harry a desperate look that Harry ignores – _Take me to your best friend’s house. Marmalade, we’re making out._

Liam chews on his thumbnail as Harry disappears into the crowd of Louis’ teammates, arm slinking around Louis’ shoulder and they’re giggling together – _My eyes on your eyes like Peter Pan up in the sky._   Liam tries not to grin at the sight, doesn’t have a chance to before Zayn’s in front of him, chin tilted up with blinking eyes.

Liam raises his brow, pushes off the wall.  He waits a beat, Zayn silent, before asking, “Something I can do for you?”

Zayn snorts, pushed up smile on his face.  “You did that last night.”

Liam sighs impatiently, eyes turning into small slits.  “Save the bullshit for someone else, Zayn.”

“Get over yourself Liam,” Zayn snaps and Liam takes a step back in surprise.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.  Get over yourself,” Zayn repeats, words a little thicker with annoyance.  “You can’t let the whole world fall apart around you and let it stop you from doing what you want.  From having what you want.  This little act you put on, very poorly mind you, of ignoring everything that makes you happy because you think it’s not supposed to is utterly ridiculous.”

“I don’t – “

“Yes, you do,” Zayn argues, brow lowered.

“And what about you?  Why the fuck would you care?” Liam snaps back, taking a step forward this time.

A curl pulls at the corners of Zayn’s lips.  “You never asked me if I did or didn’t.”

Liam snorts, rolls his eyes.  “Like you would.  What for?  You’re too busy doing any and everything you want to give a shit about someone else.”

Zayn’s hands reach out, curl into the fabric of Liam’s shirt and he’s pushing Liam backward until he slams into the wall.  Liam thinks to push back, to escape that fury running through the middle of Zayn’s eyes but Zayn’s lips crush against his before he can.

The push of Zayn’s lips against his feels like it’s supposed to be forceful, but it’s not.  It’s painfully soft, slow.  Zayn’s licking into his mouth, tongue running over his teeth, curling around Liam’s.  He’s fisting his fingers tightly into Liam’s shirt, pressing everything against Liam.  He’s angling his head, anything but rough as he drags his mouth over Liam’s.  Liam bites at the moan trying to break through but it rolls from his mouth against Zayn’s, Zayn smiling softly.

When Zayn pulls back, they’re both breathless.  Zayn’s got a grin curling over his lips and Liam’s wide-eyed, pupils blown wide and his lips ache for more.

Zayn presses his forehead to Liam’s, a hand on Liam’s face with fingers gently stroking his skin.

“Get over yourself Liam,” Zayn whispers, lips still close that Liam can inch forward and capture them.  “So someone else can get under all of this fucking armor.”

Zayn jerks back, fixing his jacket as Liam stays pressed to the wall.  Zayn drags his hand through his hair, messes it up but Liam still thinks it’s perfect.  He doesn’t say anything, spins on his heels and slips into a small group of giggling girls moving toward the exit.  He throws Liam a look over his shoulder, twisted grin that Liam swallows at.

He doesn’t move from the wall, too fearful his legs will give out on him before he makes it halfway out of the stadium.  And he wishes more than ever he would’ve stayed home for a small dinner with his parents and sisters rather than coming to London.

Rather than wishing Harry was wrong because now he wants to know everything about Zayn.

**

They eat at a fancy restaurant that’s far too expensive for Liam’s tastes, but Harry and Louis are paying and Niall manages to find something to eat off of every section on the menu, so he doesn’t complain much.  Harry’s sister Gemma comes too, and she’s everything Harry is but with a little less dramatics and cheekiness.  Still, she’s gorgeous with her dimples and soft brown hair, teasing Louis the whole time until Harry’s a blushing mess when Liam looks on him with massive interest, grinning behind his hand.

Eleanor doesn’t come, Louis doesn’t say much about it but Liam catches the way Niall bites at his lip, doesn’t say anything when Gemma asks about her.  Liam’s sisters, Ruth and Nicola, show up, Nicola with Martin, and Liam’s in complete shock when they give him hugs and kisses with small presents from back home.  Harry smiles then, winking at Liam and Liam would lunge across the table to hug him but he contains himself enough just to kick Harry under the table as a “thank you.”

Perrie comes by too, a Niall invite, before her shift, dragging a few friends with her, Jade and Leigh-Anne, and she’s all jokes and smiles, insanely kind but still taking a piss at Louis any chance she gets for dancing on the tables at the club.  Liam’s parents call, his mum rattling off all of the things she has planned when he returns home.  He smiles when his father promises a trip to watch West Bromwich play in a few weeks and there’s even a text from a few of his other friends back home, the ones he knows from secondary school but doesn’t talk to as often as he does Louis, Harry and Niall.

They each take turns picking out bars in the city, piling into cabs and walking like the city is on fire with their eyes lit up.  Louis drags them to a place that’s far too loud, playing classic rock and top forty hits with drinks so expensive even Niall balks at the prices.  They sip beer there, fancy German lagers and Harry swallows back a pint of Cider with a bemused grin when Louis orders a gin and tonic because nothing is too expensive for Louis.  Louis doesn’t dance on the tables there but he drags Liam in between a few tables to bop around to Katy Perry, Harry joining them while Niall flirts with a group of girls a few tables down.  There’s nothing but laughter, catcalls from two older women at the bar who sing along – _Last Friday night we went streaking in the park, skinny dipping in the dark, then had a ménage à trois._

Niall takes them to a more traditional pub with bangers and mash, an endless list of pints and lagers, a pool table, and dim lights.  Liam loves how half of the bar talks just like Niall, grinning when Niall fits right in with his loudness, brilliant excitement, and crackling smile.  Louis and Harry sip through beers this time, Liam doing a couple of shots with Niall that are strong and bitter but he’s grinning afterward, blushing when the waitress tries to flirt with him – Harry gets her number anyway because she’s pretty but Liam’s certain it’s because it makes Louis incredibly jealous and a bit possessive whenever the waitress comes back to check on them.

The place Harry takes them frightens Niall a bit but Liam’s all pushed up smiles, head nodding to the thumping music while Louis chats loudly with the wall-to-wall drag queens.  There’s guys on guys, girls on girls, bright colored drinks that Louis grins at while Liam slips into a booth with his arm around Niall, promising to protect him when one too many tall men with big wigs and far too long lashes smirk at him.

This place is just as loud as the place Louis picked out but it’s darker, neon shades on the lamps and everything seems to be plastered in black paint.  Harry’s lips are tipped up, Louis whispering into his neck after a few shots of tequila, to which Liam reminds Louis how he’d “just sworn that stuff off this morning.”  Louis flips him off and cuddles closer to Harry, giggling while Harry bops to the music blaring through the ratty speakers above – _Come on. I wanna hear it. Let’s get soaking wet._   It’s something out of _Queer As Folk_ , the American version, because Louis made him sit through a marathon of the DVD’s one day, not that Louis will admit why he even owned the series but Liam can see Babylon in this small place, the way bodies move with electric lights and drinks spilling over.

He’s lying on Louis’ bed a few hours later, far from buzzed but he can tell Louis definitely is.  He’s humming, singing under his breath, dancing around the room with a grin – _All the lovers that have gone before, they don’t compare to you._

Niall turned it in earlier, well, actually he passed out in the cab and Harry had to give him a piggyback ride back to his room, but no one really said anything.  Harry disappeared into his own room, smiling fondly at Louis before nodding at Liam, pushing out a sigh when Liam gave him a knowing look.  Harry ignored it but he’s certain he got his point across when Harry slams the door.

He laughs to himself, thinks Louis looks a little foolish but there’s an air about him.  Freedom, maybe?  He’s not quite sure but he knows Louis ducked off somewhere between Niall’s pub and Harry’s drag show to take a call from Eleanor, returning with a slightly pinched face that faded sometime later when Harry slipped his hand into Louis’ and drug him to the makeshift dance floor at the club, laughing at each other with their foreheads pushed together, which was painfully difficult since Harry is quite taller than Louis.  But Louis just grinned, fucking _beamed_ the whole time and Harry, well, Harry looked more like himself than he’s looked in a while.

“What a weekend,” Louis sighs out when he drops down onto the bed next to Liam, half curling into Liam.

“Yeah,” Liam nods.  He smirks at Louis, eyes even brighter now.

“Am I not the best mate you’ve ever had?” Louis asks with a grin, pulling his fingers through Liam’s hair.

“Depends.  Are we factoring in Harry and Niall into this?”

“Twat,” Louis laughs out, pushing lightly at Liam’s head.  “You disappoint me.”

“You annoy me,” Liam laughs back, face wincing when Louis elbows him, hard.

Louis rolls to his side, propping his head on his elbow.  “Do you want a birthday snog?”

“Gross,” Liam says with a pained expression.  He snorts when Louis slaps his chest.  Louis doesn’t know the meaning of hitting softly, but Liam learned that a long time ago.

“Who is it?”

“Who is who?” Liam shoots back, brow lowering.  Louis lips lick into a mischievous grin and Liam shudders.

“The person who seems to have your attention this whole weekend.  And don’t you dare say Danielle.  I know better,” Louis fusses, eyes deadly serious.  “After all, I’ve known you long enough to know these things.”

“Nobody,” Liam replies flatly, turning his head away.

Lying to Louis isn’t something he’s ever been very good at.  Not even when they were younger and he tried to play sick when one of Louis’ ideas was surely going to get Liam in trouble at school or with his parents.  He didn’t do well at winning those battles.

“Ah, this Mrs. or Mr. Nobody must be rather important if you keep trying to avoid talking about it,” Louis notes, rolling onto his back to look up at the ceiling.

Liam rolls his eyes, knows better.  Louis could try all he want, but Liam was actually good at keeping a secret, especially from Louis who was, if possible, even more incapable than Niall and Harry at doing so.

“It’s nothing Lou,” Liam asserts, fingers drumming on his chest.  “Nothing I’ll have to worry about once we leave London.”

He knows he’s right.  Zayn’s not worth the trouble, at least, he doesn’t think he is.  Because Zayn is the type of person who’s an asshole just because it’s a Tuesday.  But Zayn also cared enough that night to walk Liam back to his hotel, or piss Danielle off enough that she walked away without ripping too much of Liam’s dignity away.  He’s the kind of guy who held Liam’s hand without asking, smiled at him like he mattered when Liam’s certain he shouldn’t, birthday or not.

That still doesn’t justify Zayn’s actions or the way Liam still felt the sting when Zayn left him that morning.

Louis nods, hums his disapproval.  He waits a beat, thinking it over and Liam can see it in his expression as if he’s calculating it all slowly.

“Eleanor broke up with me,” Louis says softly, holds up a finger before Liam can say anything.  “She broke up with me because she feels there’s someone else I should probably be with.  My other mate is in love with my girlfriend, well, rather _ex_ -girlfriend.  And he never told me though I’ve known it for a long time.  I just didn’t say anything because, I don’t know, maybe El is right.”

Liam nods, watches Louis face twist a little like he’s thinking through a few more things.

“Harry and I fight and make up and fight some more even though he’s quite obviously not telling me what the real problem is.  Your own girlfriend came all the way just to tell you it’s over, not because she’s a total bitch though I’m sure she can be one, but because she just doesn’t care.

And you, you Li are going back home to start Uni.  You’re going home to the same old life you’ve always lived.  But you’re not happy.  Or you are, but there’s still something you want but you just seem to ignore it because, I guess, you feel thinking about yourself is completely rude or something like that,” Louis says, picking at strands of his hair.  He tilts his head, sighing.

“It wouldn’t work Lou,” Liam insists, stealing his eyes away from Louis.  “I don’t know him.  Why even bother?”

“Because it’s what you want,” Louis says right back with the kind of enthusiasm that Liam cringes at.  “And, fuck, when are you ever going to just go for it?”

Liam shakes his head, determined.  “When it’s worth it, I will.”

“Keep telling yourself that Li,” Louis says, patting apathetically at Liam’s shoulder.  Liam shrugs the hand off.

“I’m not wasting my birthday chasing a boy,” Liam sighs, sitting on the bed.

“Are you ever going to waste a day chasing anything?” Louis wonders.

Liam doesn’t have a chance to respond, not that he had a good answer because, shit, Louis has always been good at throwing Liam off his track.  He thinks it’s a skill Louis should bottle and sell because he’d be sickly rich from that alone.

Harry’s pushing through the door and Louis sits up immediately.  Liam wonders when Harry got a key to Louis’ room but the grin spreading over Louis’ face, the way his eyes crinkle right around the edges leave Liam’s mouth closed.  And Harry’s looking pleasantly buzzed, a lopsided grin with his curls pushed back behind a headband and glassy green eyes.  He merely rubs at the back of his head, watches Harry lean in the doorway with a smirk.  He looks at Louis, then Harry, then Louis again and it’s all he needs.

Liam fakes a yawn, stretches before pushing off of the bed.  “I should turn in.”

“But the night’s still young.  We can go downstairs and trouble the front desk for all kinds of stupid shit that they probably don’t have,” Louis says but Liam knows Louis’ just trying to be polite.  He smiles at that.

“No, I’m right knackered.  Long weekend and all,” Liam grins, easing by Louis.  He nudges Harry with his hip, half-turning to add, “Lots of interesting things happened this weekend.  Guess I won’t be forgetting this birthday.”

He slips out of the room before Harry can comment but he knows Louis’ mouth is agape with wide eyes and Harry’s probably grinning too hard to really say anything important.

**

He doesn’t sleep that well that night.  It’s mostly tossing, staring blankly at the window, listening to the white noise from the television and laying on his back with his eyes tightly shut but never really drifting off to sleep for long.  Everything feels unfocused, complicated in ways he just doesn’t want.  He tries to blame it on anxiety about Uni, but he’s not really worried about that.  He knows if he sucks there, there’s always the airplane factory his dad works at as a fall back.  And then he thinks its Louis or Harry, maybe Niall, but he knows they’re more than capable of taking care of themselves, at least for a few hours before they’re ringing up Liam and asking for help.  He wants it to be Danielle because that was an easy fix.  He’s already planned out getting over every aspect of that relationship and, maybe it was the lack of closure, somehow, that pulled him down so much?

No, he knows what it is and when the sun climbs high enough into the sky in the morning, he’s grumbling and rolling out of bed.  He hops into the shower, wrinkling his face at himself in the mirror when he sees the circles under his eyes before brushing his teeth and attempting to do something with his hair besides letting it lie there damp and flat.  He slips into a pair of red joggers, a white t-shirt and his high top Adidas, pocketing his room key and phone before slipping out the door.

Liam hangs back a bit when he hears the pull of another door, a grin easing over his lips when he spots Harry scurrying out of Louis’ room, curls tangled and a mess.  He’s missing his shirt, back to Liam with his shoulders slumped forward and when Liam peeks just far enough to the right he can see love bites decorating most of Harry’s shoulder and a few stretches of skin along his neck.  He chuckles lowly, taking slow steps backward as Harry stumbles to his own door, slotting in the key before slipping inside.

Liam grins to himself as he moves down the not nearly as busy London streets.  The air is already a little warm from the lifting sun, oranges fading into brighter yellows that dance off buildings and coat the streets, chasing shadows away.  He never thought Harry would have the balls, though he’s sort of certain had almost everything else that happened this weekend occurred, Harry would be brooding to him more than half the ride back to town.  And Louis?  Louis was Liam’s best mate and, though he didn’t say it, Liam had sorted out a while ago that Louis wasn’t the type to stick to a label unless it applied to clothing.  He’s fairly certain that the two of them, together, meant a world of hurt and chaos for the world.  That idea alone makes him grin even harder.

It’s still early, just after ten, when he stops in front of the café.  He’s not really sure how he remembers how to get there, maybe by instinct.  He inhales deep, thinks at least three times about spinning on his heels and making the long walk back to the hotel.  He doesn’t have to do this, not by any means.  He could walk away from this, from all of this.  He could drop his feelings off right here on the sidewalk, kick them to the side, and go on with life.  It wouldn’t be easy, he admits to himself, but he could do it.  He has that kind of determination.

He breathes out that air he’s been holding in his lungs until they were burning.  He drags his hand over his head, sucking in his bottom lip.  He looks around, thinks about maybe ducking off into one of the shops for a while until he had built up enough courage just to get this over with.  He knows he’ll never do it though, find the courage that is.  Not in a flower shop or a bookstore or that silly diner across the street with the flickering ‘OPEN’ sign and promises of the best pie in all of London.

Liam pushes the door to the café open, stands in the doorway for a little bit, eyes scanning.  What the fuck was he looking for anyway?  Did he expect Zayn just to be there, at the door, greeting him with a smile and a menu?

“Oh, hello,” Tricia says, her voice surprised and high.  “I’m sorry, we’re closed for breakfast this morning.  It’s sort of a family tradition.”

Liam stares at her blankly, blinking before he glances around.

The café is empty, except for two tables pushed together in the middle of the room where Doniya, Safaa, and Waliyha sit, the two eldest swiping away on their phones while Safaa rocks her head back and forth, singing some Rihanna song loudly, missing every other lyric.  There’s also an older man at the head of one of the tables, newspaper unfolded in front of him with his legs crossed and a button down shirt.  His features are striking, edged by copper skin and when Liam fixes his eyes on the thick, black hair, the definition of his chin, he sees an older version of Zayn.

“I’m sorry.  I, uh, I was,” Liam stops himself, his breathing a little labored and Tricia’s raising her brow, hand over her chest with mild concern.  “Sorry.  Was looking for someone.  I’ll go.”

“Wait,” Tricia calls out and Liam doesn’t have a chance to spin on his heels, rush out of the café before she’s walking up to him, studying him.

“You’re from the other night, yes?  The one celebrating his birthday?”

Liam swallows, breath still uneven.  He catches Waliyha looking up, pushing those thick bangs from her eyes.  She grins at him, leaning back in her chair.

“Liam,” Liam finally says, nodding at Tricia.

“Yes, Liam,” Tricia says with a grin, edging close enough to him to rub a gentle hand over his arm.  She’s sweet comfort in the way Liam’s mum is, all smiles and doting eyes.

“I didn’t mean to… I mean, I didn’t know you were closed.  The door was open,” Liam rattles off, wincing when he realizes how rushed and crazed his words sound.  She probably thinks him mental.

“Yes, of course,” Tricia smiles out, still rubbing at his arm.  “My very irresponsible son must’ve left it unlocked when he rushed in here this morning.”

She giggles, smile tucked away with warm eyes.  Liam grins, loses some of that tenseness that’s locking his body in place.

“Oh.  And isn’t today your birthday?  It is Monday, yeah?”

Liam tries not to look taken aback by her, but he fails.  “Yes.  Yes it is.”

Tricia nods, pleased.  Liam feels blush heat his cheeks, hands slipping into his pockets as he rocks on his heels and he thinks to say something but a voice twists all of his thoughts around themselves.

“Liam?” Zayn calls out, the double doors from the kitchen swishing behind him.

Liam looks past the others to him, taking in the way his hair is soft again but still standing tall.  The scruff is still there, much lighter now with a blue and red plaid button-down on, far too many of the top buttons undone.  He’s rubbing his hands along his chinos, blinking at Liam.  From this distance, Liam can’t make out all of the colors in his eyes but he can spot the wideness, the shock that’s running through them with his lips dipping a little into a frown.

Doniya sits up, peeking past Safaa to grin in Liam’s direction.  It unsettles him.

“Wait, _the_ Liam?  That you went to the football match with?” Doniya asks.  That makes him feel even more uncomfortable.

“I didn’t go with him.  I went for his birthday,” Zayn snaps, eyes darting toward Doniya who’s sticking her tongue out at him.  “Or something like that.”

“Cute,” Waliyha giggles, tossing sections of her dark hair behind her shoulder.  She arches an eyebrow at him, looking him up and down.  “Yep.  He is.”

Liam catches the groan Zayn releases, stomping forward until he’s next to his mum.

“What are you doing here?” Zayn hisses lowly, brow coming together.

Liam scrunches his nose, asks himself the same question because he didn’t need any of this.  He didn’t need Zayn looking at him like he shouldn’t be here, be anywhere near Zayn.  Or Zayn’s sisters, all except Safaa, giggling at him from the table and making eyes behind Zayn’s back.  Or Zayn’s mum who is impossibly sweet and makes Liam feel like he wants to stick around just to see how wonderful she is with her family, how she probably makes them all feel special without even trying.

“Don’t be rude Zayn,” Tricia fusses lowly, slapping her son’s arm.  Zayn barely flinches, eyes still steely as he looks at Liam.

“I should go,” Liam says quietly, lips twisting sideways when Zayn gives him that look that he can’t quite define but it’s saying something other than what Liam had said.

“Nonsense.  We always have breakfast together on Mondays.  It’s a proper start to our week,” Tricia starts, moving in closer until she’s standing side by side with Liam, slipping her arm around Liam’s with a smirk.  “And since it is your birthday and it would seem by dear son knows you, you should join us.”

Liam’s eyes go more than a little wide, Zayn’s too.  They trade glances, nerves a telltale sign before they’re looking at Tricia like she’s mad.  But she’s smiling kindly, apple pie sweetness that Liam fawns over while Zayn groans under his breath.

“Tricia.”

Tricia peeks around Liam, grinning.  “Yaser?”

Liam watches Zayn’s father fold the newspaper back together, eyes watching them briefly before he’s pouring a cup of coffee, stirring in a few spoonfuls of sugar.  He clears his throat, eyeing Safaa fondly for a moment before looking up again.

“It would seem our son has a friend here whom is quite the fan of football and, quite possibly, the nicest bloke Zayn has ever brought around us,” Yaser states, his voice deep and a bit uneven.  He nods at Waliyha with a grin before adding, “And anyone Waliyha is fond of is someone I think deserves to at least share a meal with the Malik’s.  Do you not agree Zee?”

Zayn’s head drops a little, shyness overcoming.  He’s running a hand over the back of his head, fingers carefully not to completely ruin his half-styled hair.

“Yes baba,” Zayn says quietly, skidding the toe of his Converse along the tiled floor.  Liam watches the way those eyelashes rest against Zayn’s cheeks, making him look impossibly younger and innocent.

“Then it’s settled,” Tricia gleams, clapping her hands together.  She grins up at Liam who’s still more than a little tongue tied, looking around and there’s eyes on him from everyone except Zayn who’s still looking down at the ground.

“Come.  Sit with us,” Yaser insists, standing.  He pulls out the two chairs next to Doniya, the ones closest to him.

Liam swallows again, feels the lump catch right on the edge of his throat as Zayn sighs, shoulders rolled forward when he lifts his head, defiance in his eyes as he looks on Liam.  His eyes look at him as to say “don’t say anything to fuck this up for me” and Liam feels a scowl pull at the corners of his face, wishing desperately now that he would’ve just stayed back at the hotel, trying to will himself to fall asleep for a few more hours.

“Wonderful.  I’ll go and get the food from the kitchen,” Tricia announces, scurrying past Zayn and Liam.   She throws a glance over her shoulder halfway to the kitchen before saying, “Saf and Waliyha, come help.”

Safaa leaps from her chair happily, dashing toward her mum while Waliyha rolls her eyes with a moan, pushing her chair back until it scrapes loudly along the floor.  Yaser shoots her a look that she grins at, fakes a cheeriness with the way she bops when she walks, pressing a kiss to her father’s temple before hurrying toward the kitchen when her mum folds her arms over her chest, twin smirks on their faces.

“Come on,” Zayn grumbles and Liam barely makes it out before he feels Zayn’s fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist, pinching his skin before Zayn’s dragging him toward the table.

Zayn plops down into the seat next to Doniya, slapping her thigh playfully.  Liam’s left with the chair closest to Yaser, Zayn’s father nodding at him approvingly before Liam slowly slides into the chair, pushing up close to the table.  He lays his hands on the soft linen cloth covering it, palms flat as he looks down at the beautiful plates, one for food, the other with a tea cup seated upside down on it.  The silverware is much nicer than the ones Liam remembered using the other night.  Everything is set like a Sunday dinner on holiday he thinks, with the flowers and the primness that Liam grins at.

“So, Liam, yes?” Yaser asks after taking a slow sip of his coffee.

Liam nods quickly, uncertainty rolling over his face as he looks at Yaser.  That grin, edged up just right along his cheeks, reminds him so much of Zayn.  It makes it easier for him to smile back, wishing he knew why because he sort of hates Zayn’s smile.  At least, he hates the way the image alone has run through his mind at least a hundred times since Saturday.

“You’re a fan of football?” Yaser inquires, hands resting on top of one another as he leans in Liam’s direction, curious smirk pushing at his lips.

Liam grins back, exhales slowly.  “Very much.”

Yaser nods back, a hearty laugh lifting from his chest.  “You son have already won me over.”

Liam bites down on his bottom lip, not too harshly because he’s smiling wide and he wants to imagine Zayn’s eyes on him with something resembling affection in them but he’s not certain.  He doesn’t bother to look either.

Tricia returns with plates of bacon, eggs, bowls of fruit that she makes Safaa carry while Waliyha carries trays of pancakes and French toast scattered with powdered sugar.  There’s bowls of steaming hot porridge, thick sausages, orange juice and tea which Liam willing accept the moment Tricia offers.  She squeezes a healthy amount of honey into it, explaining her secret recipe for great spiced tea, shaving off orange peels on top of his cup before adding just a spot of cream.  Doniya and Waliyha eat light while Safaa piles her plates with things she’ll never finish, swatting at Waliyha’s hand when she tries to steal a piece of bacon and Liam laughs to himself, certain that she and Niall would probably enjoy eating together.

Tricia spends most of the time listening to Safaa go on and on about various things like her favorite shows on the telly, dreading returning to school, her new favorite songs – something by Bruno Mars that Liam’s almost certain Zayn got her hooked on – while Waliyha spends most of her time swiping through her phone, playing games and laughing at things she reads on Twitter.  Zayn and Doniya tease each other lowly, ignoring Tricia’s protest from the other end of the table as they steal food from each other, tongues stuck out like six year olds.

Yaser asks Liam about football, Liam chatting up West Bromwich in an almost dreamy voice, Yaser nodding along the entire time.  Yaser talks about Manchester United, bragging about their defense and Liam is quick to point out their lack of a strong midfielder to which Yaser grins knowingly about, nodding toward Liam.  Yaser goes on about wishing their old city, Bradford, still had a team in the league, Liam’s interest piqued because Yaser’s letting things out that Liam still has yet to learn about Zayn.  Not that he wanted to, but still, it sounds brilliantly intriguing.

Tricia laughs from her end of the table about Zayn wanting to be a Power Ranger when he was younger, Liam’s eyes going wide as Zayn ducks his head with blush.  Yaser reminds them of the tremendous amount of energy his son used to have, still does when Zayn’s really on about something according to Doniya.  They fuss about Zayn’s constant singing, Yaser in favor of it while Tricia groans about Zayn in a green dressing gown singing something loudly that has Zayn going even redder than he was before.  Liam grins at that, breathing in the scent of blueberry muffins and the passion fruit Zayn’s pushing around on his plate.

When Yaser’s asking Liam about back home, his parents, his plans for University, Liam feels something brush over the back of his hand.  He doesn’t look down, thinks about it, but instinct rolls through him as he turns his hand over, fingers tickling over his palm before he’s holding Zayn’s hand under the table.  A grin spreads over his lips, never missing a beat as he tells Yaser about Harry and Louis, laughing all the time.  He chances a small glance at Zayn who’s looking at Safaa, smirk wrinkling his nose and crinkling his eyes but Liam can’t help but wonder if part of the way those lips ease into softness are just for him.

Liam strokes his thumb over the back of Zayn’s hand, where he thinks the bird is outlined, when Doniya goes on about her own Uni plans, some fascinating boy she met while on holiday in Spain who’s studying to be a doctor or something like that.  Tricia’s cooing, Yaser looking on approvingly while Zayn slumps back, chin tucked.  There’s something resembling a frown pulling at Liam’s mouth before he’s leaning forward, whispering, “You’re the world to them.  You’re amazing,” pulling back to spot Yaser’s eyes on him, brow raised with intrigue.  Liam bites along his lip, ducking his own head as his cheeks heat up but he can see Zayn grinning from the corner of his eye, easing his racing heart.

Zayn’s fingers tighten around his when Waliyha goes on about the books she’s read over the summer, blinking happily at Zayn when she asks about what he’s been reading.  Liam leans a little in Zayn’s direction, nudging their shoulders as Zayn nearly chokes on his coffee, eyes immediately flocking toward his father’s.  Yaser’s are fleeting, an uneven expression running his face.  Doniya tries to change the subject, asks Liam about his plans for his birthday but Liam doesn’t get a chance to answer.

“I like Liam,” Zayn blurts out, his voice more than a little choked.

Liam’s eyes bat wide open, staring at Zayn as if he were an alien.  His mouth is gaped, heart doing its best to somersault right up Liam’s throat but Zayn’s rubbing a nervous thumb rapidly over the back of his hand, looking for support that Liam offers in the form of a small squeeze to Zayn’s own hand.

“Yes, dear, we like him too,” Tricia agrees with a nod, smirking.

“No, I – “

“I like him too,” Waliyha says with a shrug, picking at her pancakes.

“I fancy him!” Safaa bellows, whining when Waliyha slaps her shoulder with a hiss.

“No, I _like_ Liam.  I fancy him.  We’re not just friends,” Zayn says, his tone exasperated and he’s looking desperately to his mum who nods slowly, brow wrinkling with concern.

“He’s your boyfriend?” Doniya finally asks, leaning forward to look between Liam and Zayn.

Liam swallows, doesn’t know how to answer that question because, no, of course not.  They weren’t, on any level.  Except the one where Zayn’s still holding his hand under the table, leg jiggling until Liam presses his other hand onto it, calming Zayn slightly.

“No,” Zayn hisses, face pinching.  “He’s,” Zayn starts, thinks it over before responding.  “He is someone special to me, I guess.  I don’t know.  I guess I’m saying – “

Yaser clears his throat loudly, inching forward in his chair when Zayn’s head jerks in his direction.  His bottom lip is trembling a little and Liam doesn’t know why but everything in him now wants to kiss Zayn calm, drag those nerves out of Zayn with his lips.

“Well, Tricia, it would seem we’ve found out something else interesting about our son,” Yaser starts, his brow knit.  He’s careful about the way he refolds the newspaper, pushes his plate in front of himself.  He takes a slow sip of his coffee as Tricia tilts her head to look on him.

“It would seem my boy has found someone I can enjoy as much as he can,” Yaser finally says, a quiet smile softening all the hard lines in his face.  Tricia smirks back at him, Waliyha too.  Doniya snickers, smacking at Zayn’s shoulder while Safaa looks around confused.  Liam joins her, brow lowered with his mouth hanging open.

Zayn lets out an unsteady breath of air, slouching back in his chair.  He rubs at his forehead, his face dropping a little before a small smile dances over his lips.

Relief washes over Liam until he hears Yaser again.  “Though I do hope Liam that you might be a great influence on my son and help him to get back to writing again.  His mum has made it quite clear to me that he’s quite talented in that department and I am nothing but in love with anything my son finds pleasure in.”

Zayn looks up, blinking, Liam watching Zayn rather than Yaser though he nods for Yaser.  Zayn looks ready to cry, eyes blinking rapidly to draw in the tears while Tricia reaches across the table to cup a hand over her son’s, shaking it for comfort.  Doniya’s kicking him under the table, grinning, and Liam thinks he’s never seen Zayn quite so beautiful with that smile pushing at his lips, cheeks lifting, eyes lit up like streaks of gold in the sky and fear finally dancing away like silhouettes inside of a dark room.

It only takes a beat before the table settles back into a groove of conversations everywhere, Zayn listening to a story Safaa tells him about the puppy she wants, Waliyha fussing at her father for not buying her a new phone, Doniya and Tricia going on about the boy Doniya was talking about earlier.  Liam settles comfortably into his chair, sipping on his almost cold tea and he doesn’t miss it this time when Zayn leans in his direction, hands still clasped, grinning as Safaa sings half a verse of Justin Timberlake before Waliyha’s throwing a hand over her mouth, groaning loudly.

**

Zayn offers to walk Liam back to his hotel, both of them fairly quiet the entire time.  They’re no longer holding hands but Zayn is never too far from Liam where he can’t reach out and run his hand over the back of Zayn’s head, fingers moving lower until they no longer feel thick hair and instead trace over soft skin that slips beneath the collar of Zayn’s shirt, fingers chasing down the valley of skin until it’s almost an uncomfortable position for his arm.

He sees pieces of London he never paid attention to with Zayn by his side.  There’s life in the city during the day, nothing like the night where it’s electric and sparkling in its own reverie.  There’s families walking the streets, couples with their dogs, buses and cars buzzing by with the air kicking that August breeze along their shoulders.  He’s snapping pictures with his phone, Zayn jumping into a few of them with his tongue stuck out and a grin on his face.  He drags Zayn in close when they pass by a statue, arm slung around Zayn’s smaller shoulders and Zayn’s pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek as Liam snaps a quick picture in front of the aging metal statue.

Neither says anything when they walk through the lobby, Liam not even bothering to ask if Zayn wants to come up.  It’s an unsaid agreement when they sneak fleeting looks into each other’s eyes.  They walk to the lift together, grinning and blushing when Niall stumbles out, eyes wide when he looks at them.  Liam ushers Zayn into the lift before Niall can ask any questions, winking at Niall when he spins around, still dumbstruck when he looks on them.  His lips quirk upward, nods at Zayn who’s got pink spots ravishing his cheeks as Liam presses the button for their floor, waving Niall off when the doors start to slowly slide shut.

When Liam clicks the keycard into his door, pushing it open, Zayn walks in first.  He reaches back blindly, Liam lifting his hand for Zayn to grab before he’s being drug inside.  Zayn doesn’t stop when they’re inside, pulls Liam close to the bed before turning to face him, promising smile pushed onto his pink lips.  His tongue licks out, wets them, eyeing Liam with a hint of questioning in his eyes.

“Why did you – “

Liam reaches out, hand cupping the back of Zayn’s head to drag him forward before he can finish.

Their foreheads are pressed together, Liam’s lips so close to Zayn’s.  He’s blinking, trying hard not to fall for those rich brown eyes.  He can feel Zayn’s breath brushing over his lips, smiling knowingly as Zayn looks at him with awe.

“I don’t know,” Liam finally says, answering the question Zayn never got to ask.  “I just, I don’t know, Zayn.  Something about you.  Something about the way you made me feel.  And then, with your family, I just didn’t know what to do.  But I wanted to make sure you were okay.  I wanted to, you know, protect you.”

Zayn nods, swallowing.  A smile pulls at the corners of his lips, the ones he’s licking again before smirking.  He’s a ball of innocence for a few beats, just staring at Liam like he believes in everything that Liam is.

It hurts, but only in the best way.

“They loved you,” Zayn whispers, hands finding their way to Liam’s hips.

Liam shudders when those hands rise up, stroke back down, actions repeated.

“You think?”

Zayn nods again.  He angles his head just a little and they’re kissing, slow, deliberately slow until Zayn swallows Liam’s breath, lips parting and a tongue working its way into Liam’s mouth.  Liam moans, bottom lip trembling until Zayn nips softly at it with his teeth, smiling against Liam’s lips.  He feels faded, the right kind of buzz working its way from his stomach outward.

Liam pulls back, his thumb caressing Zayn’s cheek.  Zayn blinks, stares at him with an eyebrow arched.

“We’re okay, right?” Liam finally asks, still trying to catch his breath.  “I mean, after all of this, we’re okay?”

Zayn snorts, hands skating up again until they dance over Liam’s ribs.

“Why are you trying to make everything make sense all of the time?” Zayn questions, inching forward again and he presses a chaste kiss to Liam’s lips this time.

Liam pulls back again, a fumbled smile on his lips.  “Because.”

“That’s not an answer,” Zayn says, head shaking.

“You didn’t answer my question either,” Liam says right back, craning his neck to the side.

Zayn shrugs, eyes narrow just a little.  “Let go, Liam.”

Liam nods slowly though he’s not quite sure what Zayn means.

“Just let go,” Zayn repeats, swooping in quickly until their lips crash together, waves breaking over the sand on a low tide.

Liam fists a hand into Zayn’s hair, his breath hitching and it comes out like a deep whine that Zayn smirks at, mouthing at Liam’s lips playfully.

“Zayn, I just – “

“Let go, Liam,” Zayn says again, tongue licking at Liam’s teeth before he’s sucking on Liam’s bottom lip.

“I like you too.” More lips, a little less tongue.  Teeth nipping at his tongue when it slips inside.

“And, I don’t know – “ Lips sucking on his tongue.  He tastes cigarette smoke, something sweet like dragon fruit.

“What that’s supposed to – “ Wet lips, just the slightest hint of chapped pushing up against his.  The words die a little.

“Mean.”  Rougher kisses now, fingers tugging at his shirt.  He’s doesn’t pull far enough back, doesn’t want to release the lips that are leaving his body numb all over.

“Let go, Liam,” Zayn orders this time, crowding him with his body before he’s jerking the shirt off of Liam.

“Let go,” Liam repeats, heavy pants following his words.  Zayn’s hips give a little roll against him and he can feel every detail of Zayn’s cock through his chinos.

“Come on,” Zayn begs, at least that’s the way it sounds but he’s sure Zayn would argue if ever asked about it.  “Just stop thinking about it.  Stop thinking about everything.”

Liam nods, fingers already struggling with the buttons on Zayn’s shirt until he realizes they’re snaps and he’s ripping them apart, pushing the plaid shirt off of Zayn’s shoulders.  He leans in, lips carving secrets into Zayn’s skin before he’s licking at skull tattoos, tracing every inch of tan skin until he figures out a way to put enough pressure there to leave a mark.

Zayn’s stepping out of his shoes, Liam following.  Zayn’s fingers are on his back, small nails dragging down the skin as Liam finally yanks Zayn’s shirt off, throwing it somewhere.  Zayn’s scruff burns against his cheeks as he kisses along Zayn’s neck, teeth scrapping as Zayn rubs at his shoulders, slow roll of a groan barely escaping Zayn’s lips.

Zayn pulls at the small tuft of hair on Liam’s head, dragging him back to slot their lips together, tongue working into Liam’s mouth as he tugs at the waistband of Liam’s sweats.  He pulls back, eyes impossibly dark with a quirked up smile.  He’s waiting, Liam rubbing his hands mercilessly over Zayn’s stomach, the small of his back, the planes of his shoulders.  He’s asking a question without speaking and Liam’s nodding quickly, finding it nearly impossible not to smile back at Zayn.

Liam helps Zayn work his pants down, kicks out of them, nearly losing his balance.  Zayn’s already undoing his own pants when Liam’s fingers find the zipper.  Liam hooks his fingers into Zayn’s white boxer-briefs, tugging them down with Zayn’s pants.  His hands find Zayn’s hips, gripping tightly before lifting Zayn gently so he can step out of his pants.  He watches Zayn’s eyes go wide, snickers lowly because, yeah, he has some tricks too.

He’s yanking down his own boxers when Zayn pushes him back on the bed, crawls on top of him and it’s nothing but kisses, slow and soft intermingled with rough and fast ones.  Liam’s pulling at Zayn’s hair, sighing out a groan when Zayn drags his lips all over Liam’s neck.  He wonders how many marks Zayn will leave behind, way too much sucking and licking not to.  And his legs spread willingly when Zayn fits his hands onto Liam’s thighs, pulling at them.

“Can I?” Zayn asks, more than a little breathless this time as he pulls back to look down at Liam.  “I mean, you know – “

“I want you,” Liam says quickly, hand finding the back of Zayn’s head to pull him back in.

“Fuck,” Zayn hisses between kisses, words scrambling against Liam’s lips.  “You’re going to ruin me.”

Liam laughs though another kiss, barely gets to taste that sweetness at the back of Zayn’s mouth.

“I think I already have.”

Zayn laughs back, hands pulling at Liam’s hips, thrusting down until their groins rub against each other.  It’s a fire, starting just along Liam’s nerves and it sizzles to his heart, leaving him panting and unable to say much else.

Zayn manages to find a condom somewhere in his pants, Liam reaching for his bag to pull out a bottle of hand cream that Zayn makes a face at but, hey, Liam wasn’t coming to London planning on getting fucked so packing lube never crossed his mind.  It just happened, he supposes.  And he’s never going to complain about it, not to anyone.

There’s a little lack of coordination through it all, the way Zayn coats his fingers and Liam tries to roll to the right position – on his back so he can watch Zayn – before Zayn’s pushing at the back of his thighs and spreading his legs.  Liam holds his legs back, manages to watch the first finger rub gently at his taut muscles before his eyes slip shut, all of his excitement rushing over him.  There’s pressure, everything a slow sting as the tip of Zayn’s finger pushes at the ring.  He bites down on the tip of his tongue, tries breathing through his nose but he can’t really breathe at all until Zayn works his finger all the way in to the knuckle.

“Relax,” Zayn whispers.

Liam nods, wants to ask Zayn how the fuck can he do that when it’s been far too long since Liam was in this position.  But he does, somehow, relax enough for Zayn to work the finger in and out of him for a few minutes, lips chasing the hairs along the back of Liam’s thighs.  His other hand rubs softly at Liam’s balls, pets his cock a few times until Liam’s panting and writhing on the bed.

“You’re so amazing,” Zayn says, his voice hung low and deep.  “I can’t stop looking at you.”

Liam bats his eyes open, doesn’t even notice Zayn work in the second finger because he’s watching Zayn’s eyes, the way they’re haloed with light, soft and delicate like he never imagined they’d be.  And he’s warm, no, _hot_ with arousal.  His cock is twitching, still pleading for a strong grip but Liam knows if Zayn does that he’ll be a mess all over the bed.

“Can you,” Liam starts, sighing softly as he works himself onto Zayn’s fingers.  He jerks his head, tries to make a motion that Zayn makes a face at.  “Kiss me, please?”

Zayn grins, nods.  He moves slowly up Liam’s body, fingers still pushing and pulling inside of him.  He drapes kisses along Liam’s ankle, up his forearm and over that feather that he stops at to admire.  Liam thinks he says something about it being the missing feather from Zayn’s wings but he can’t hear much over his own breathing and the way his heart is actually pounding out some kind of syncopated rhythm in his ears.

His eyes roll back, lids drifting close when Zayn ruts his lips against his own.  He lets go one of his thighs, hand curling behind Zayn’s head to hold him there.  He feels open, wants to tell Zayn he’s ready but that would mean he’d have to stop kissing Zayn.

He’s quite sure he doesn’t ever plan to stop doing that.

But then Zayn strikes something inside of him, a ball of nerves that Aiden’s never touched before.  He’s accidentally bites Zayn’s lip, stuttering out a groan that Zayn snickers at, lips still so close.

“Sorry,” Liam heaves out, pushes further onto Zayn’s fingers to get that feeling back.

“’s okay,” Zayn mutters back, licking at his lip.  They’re swollen, fuller now and Liam watches the way they mouth things at him that he doesn’t understand but it looks like _“Want to fuck you,” “You’re so tight,” “Can I make you come?”_

His back arches when Zayn puts pressure there again, head snapping back.  He moans, long and drawn out, doesn’t even catch it when Zayn pulls on his cock until everything inside of him starts to go limp.  Zayn’s thumb works over the head, wrist rotating to work that soft, sensitive spot right under the crown while dragging foreskin back.  Sweats breaking against his brow, thundering bass in his head, dry heaves leaving his body now because his throat is raw from moaning.

“Let me see it Li,” Zayn coos, pushing at that spot again, index finger staying there until Liam’s humming.

Liam bites down on his bottom lip, a little too hard.  It’s sore but he doesn’t care because Zayn’s hand is slick with his precome and those fingers, long and delicate, drag quicker along his cock.

“ _Zayn._ ”

“Say it,” Zayn demands, lips suddenly right against Liam’s.  “Say it babe.”

“Zayn,” Liam moans, his voice a little rougher.  His fingers, dull nails dig into Zayn’s forearm but Zayn doesn’t relent.

“Come on,” Zayn whispers, kissing along Liam’s lips like he’ll never have that taste again.

It scares Liam, the way his body reacts to Zayn like it’s never reacted to anyone else.

He hears the tear of the condom wrapper, prays Zayn just slips inside him soon because his toes are curling and Zayn keeps pushing further and further into him.  His hand slaps on the mattress, pulls at the duvet and, fuck, if anyone is near his door, they’ll know how much he wants Zayn to fuck him until he can’t move.

“Liam,” Zayn says, licking at his lips.

“I’m gonna come,” Liam blurts out, does his best to push Zayn away but he feels Zayn’s grin as he kisses at his lips.

“I know,” Zayn says, his voice impossibly dirty and it’s just enough before Liam’s legs spread further, Zayn’s thumb flicking over the head of his cock, and he’s coming with tight inhales, fire dragging along his lungs.

He wonders if he blackouts, white spots on his eyes, and he doesn’t know how long he shivers through it all but he’s gripping the sheets tightly when Zayn works his legs open and over his shoulders, pushing into Liam without Liam even catching his breath.

“ _Ah._ ”

Liam tenses just a little, tight burn because Zayn is definitely thicker, longer than his fingers.  But Zayn’s slow, smooth, gentle with Liam.  He rubs fingers along Liam’s jaw, kisses at his neck and Liam’s running his fingers all over Zayn’s back when Zayn leans down, still pushed up and hovering over Liam with his hands on either side of Liam’s head.  It only takes seconds, the adjusting, before Liam’s whispering into Zayn’s ear, encouraging him until Zayn’s sinking further, bottoming out with Liam’s legs falling off of his shoulders and circling his waist.

“Don’t be a hero,” Zayn says lightly into his ear, nuzzling his cheek to Liam’s.

“I’m ready,” Liam says tightly, nodding.  His back arches, an exhale caught on his tongue.  “I’m yours Zayn.”

He wonders how silly he sounds, something right out of some stupid romantic film he’d paid too much to see at the cinema, but Zayn giggles against his cheek, nods before drawing back until the head is the only thing still inside of Liam.  And it’s amazing, really, the way his body fits with Zayn.  Everything on Zayn sleek, wiry, taut while Liam is all muscle, large shoulders, toned definition, far more muscle that’s welcoming Zayn into his personal space freely.  And Zayn’s hair is mused, pulled in every direction yet still looking perfectly done, eyes closed as he shudders with every slow stroke inside of Liam.

“Tight,” Zayn gasps, hips snapping for a few strokes.

Liam gasps, hand on the back of Zayn’s neck and shoulder.  He turns his head to the side, learns every tattoo on Zayn’s forearm as Zayn fucks stars across his eyelids.

The bed rocks when Zayn finds his groove, far too fast for a few thrusts before he’s slow and gentle again, twisting his hips until his cock strikes every inch of Liam.  His lips are twisted up into a smile, Liam breathless when Zayn looks down on him like Liam is his.

And it’s not such a bad thought – Liam belonging to Zayn.  In fact, he’s sorting out that his body has already welcomed that idea.

Zayn’s grunting against his cheek, feathering kisses there as Liam bucks back against every thrust.  Zayn is good, amazing, the way he snaps his hips and then draws them out slowly.  He knows when to squeeze Liam’s inner thigh, lick a long line with that tongue over Liam’s neck until Liam’s a breathless mess on a wave he can’t fall off of.  And his world tilts a little, Zayn laying over him for a few thrusts, smacking against his prostate until Liam’s begging for it all to stop, never meaning it.  No, Zayn can’t stop because this was too good in a way Liam’s never had.

His hands moves over his chest, his other hand stroking Zayn’s face until Zayn turns his head, nipping teasingly at Liam’s fingertips.  He sucks on them, lewd with a smirk that has Liam groaning for just a little more.  His fingers drift down, over the thin hair sprinkled on his chest, the thick hair under his navel, to his cock which is throbbing and hard again.  His ankles hook right over the small of Zayn’s back, keeping him deep and Zayn’s groaning, tight and it’s hissed because Zayn doesn’t want to let it go.

It’s a blur for a while, Zayn’s lips moving over his neck as he fucks Liam.  It’s fast, hard, and Liam doesn’t complain.  He wonders how Zayn manages to hold him through it all, one arm underneath Liam’s arched back and he can feel the sweat from Zayn’s forehead when Zayn nips at his jawline.  He feels the way Zayn’s hand keeps slipping on his back, both of them damp with perspiration and he’s dizzy with desire, gnawing at his bottom lip until he thinks he slices through the flesh.

He tugs at himself, fisting his fingers around his cock and jerking quickly.  He can’t make it last this time.  Everything on the inside of him is a complete mess and that look Zayn gives him when he looks down at Liam’s hand, watches Liam work himself, leaves him wanting to cry in the worst kind of way.

He thinks next time he wants to do this to Zayn, make him forget that there was a world outside of four walls.  He wants Zayn on his hands and knees, tugging on that beautiful quiff as he rams into Zayn from behind.  He imagines he could make Zayn come without even touching himself, make even Zayn beg for it over and over until he can’t breathe.  And he’ll find out next time.

 _Next time_.  He crumbles a little at thought because, honestly, there might not be a next time.  There might not even be a later on because Zayn doesn’t do this.  He doesn’t do these things and Liam has kind of accepted that.  He’s accepting that, yeah, maybe he can do one offs too.  Why couldn’t he?  It was just a fuck, nothing more.

He wants more for a few seconds when Zayn looks down at him, softness running through those dazed almond eyes, teeth chewing on his bottom lip and making him look impossibly young.

“Oh fuck,” Zayn moans, lurches forward and Liam tips his head back, eyes squeezing shut when he feels Zayn shudder inside of him.

He waits it out, still stroking himself.  Zayn shivers for more than a few beats but then fingers are curling around Liam’s, pulling just as quickly as Liam’s until they find a rhythm.  Kisses are dripped over his neck, right along his Adam’s apple, just against that spot where his birthmark is.  A tongue licks out, teeth, a moan right against his throat until he’s spilling over his stomach, dripping into his navel, squirting up until he feels it along his chest.

It takes them awhile to fall back into reality, Zayn rolling off the bed to snap off the condom, tie it off and throw it in the trash bin.  Liam uses the sheets to wipe himself off and he’s ready to crawl off the bed and let Zayn out when Zayn falls back on the bed, tugging Liam’s nearly lifeless body to him, which is quite impressive because Liam’s too knackered to help in the slightest.

Liam throws an arm over Zayn’s chest, head rested on Zayn’s shoulder as Zayn works an arm around Liam.  He sort of likes the way his thumb slides over Zayn’s sweat-slick chest, rubbing against a brown nipple until it’s erect.  He’s panting into Zayn’s skin, feels Zayn’s smile right against his temple and, yeah, this is what he needs but can’t have.

“You know,” Zayn starts, his voice a little hoarse and Liam grins because he did that to Zayn.  “I don’t do this ‘thing’ we’re doing.”

“I know,” Liam whispers, the corners of his lips pulling downward but he knows Zayn can’t see his face.  “I don’t either.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“So how long do you want to not do this?” Liam asks shyly, nuzzles his nose to Zayn’s chest.  He doesn’t want to forget that scent – vanilla, apricot, and spearmint.

Zayn shrugs, pulls Liam even closer until their legs tangle together.  “When do you leave?”

Liam waits a beat, eyes closing.  He’s kicking himself for not pulling away, kicking Zayn out of his bed.

“Sometime this evening,” Liam finally says.  “Depends on Harry and Niall.”

Zayn nods, Liam feels it on the top of his head.  “Right.”

Liam sighs softly, tries to trace the wings sketched along Zayn’s chest.  There’s a finger under his chin, tugging gently until Liam lifts his head to look at Zayn.  It’s a bit awkward, the way his head has to crane back but then Zayn’s smiling and the discomfort doesn’t matter.

“Then I don’t want to go anywhere until then,” Zayn says, eyes crinkling with a smile.

Liam nods, refuses not to smile back.  “Okay.”

Zayn leans in close and Liam eases forward to close the distance.

“Happy birthday babe,” Zayn whispers before pushing his lips against Liam’s, mouths opening.

Liam thinks Louis might’ve been right.  It was the kind of birthday he won’t ever forget.  He won’t tell him, but he’ll tell Harry and Niall.  And Zayn, one day, if he ever gets the chance to.

**

Liam is more than quite certain Louis Tomlinson has the worst ideas ever thought of.

The problem is, Niall always goes along with them, and now Harry does too.  The thing with Niall is he’s always played along, doesn’t seem to care what Louis suggests because it always sounds worlds better to Niall when Louis presents it with mischief in his eyes and a wicked grin that Liam hates but Niall clings to.  And the Harry thing – it’s been more and more apparent since they’d left London all those months ago.  The way Harry acts as if they’re not together but, honestly, Harry’s taken more than a few trips to visit Louis at Uni on the weekends and it’s almost guaranteed that Harry will return to their own University room late on a Sunday with more purplish bruises along his collarbone than Liam wants to count.

Liam’s more than relieved that Niall and Louis got past the Eleanor thing, not that it lasted long.  In fact, it was practically over with on their trip back from London the first time.  Louis ignored Niall, Niall sulked in the backseat of the car and the two were practically hugging and crying the second Harry cranked up some silly Demi Lavato song on the radio, reaching over the seats to whisper apologies and promising never to fight again.

That only lasted about half an hour when Louis tried to steal some of Niall’s Nando’s, Niall nearly snapping off Louis’ arm and Liam let Harry play the mediator that time, sitting back with a grin on his face as they barked at each other and things were thrown that Liam hoped weren’t expensive.

But this?  This was plain silly and Liam knew it.

He knew it when Louis showed up at five o’clock in the morning that Saturday morning, pounding on he and Harry’s door until Liam sleepily rolled out of bed, threatening to personally sever off Harry’s balls for not getting up to answer the door for his boyfriend.  There was a pillow chucked at his head before he answered the door, scratching at his stomach and staring blankly at Louis who was holding up a bottle of tequila and shot glasses.

Liam wants to blame the sleep he was lacking, far too many nights up studying or trying to block out the sound of Harry’s laughs when he was on the phone with Louis, for agreeing to hop into Louis’ car with promises of fun, fun, sex, and more fun in London.  Niall was already passed out in the backseat when they stumbled toward Louis’ car, a present from his parents for his passing grades last term, curled around a pillow and drooling all over the window.  And Harry, he’s a fucking ball of laughter and excitement with a silly red beanie on, bundled up in a hoodie, scarf, mittens, and tight jeans because it’s January, Lou; who the hell takes random trips to London in January?

But it’s not really a random trip, Liam knows, and that’s why he isn’t complaining when they’re crowded together outside of that small café with layers of clothing, jackets, and scarves, blowing into their hands until the smoke from their breath swirls a white cloud around them.

“Fuck, when do we eat?” Niall grumbles, shivering close to Harry.

“What’s with this guy and food?” Louis asks, lip curled with his nose turned up.

“Do you honestly have to ask?” Harry wonders, snickering when Niall reaches out to punch Louis in the shoulder.

Louis’ quicker, ducking away and hiding behind Liam.

“We could always take shots of that alcohol you brought until we’re warm,” Harry suggests, smiling down at Niall when he clings to one of Harry’s arms, sniffling into the sleeve of Harry’s coat.

“That is for the celebratory toast.  You know the rules,” Louis says mockingly, shaking the unopened bottle at Harry who rolls his eyes with a smirk.  His cheeks are bright red, the end of his nose pink but Liam knows that dimple flares for Louis and Louis only when Louis smiles at him from over Liam’s shoulder.

The door to the café swings open before Niall has the chance to complain again, Tricia peaking her head out with a soft smile that Liam’s thought about on more than one occasion.  His heart swells a little when she grins at him first, head tilting to admire him.

“Okay, okay, he’s in the back now chatting with Perrie,” Tricia whispers, pulling the door further open to usher them inside.  She takes their coats and scarves before adding, “He still has no idea why we’re not even opened yet.  I’m sure he’ll love this.”

“Thank you so much for closing the café down for a few hours,” Harry says first, Liam nodding with his lip caught behind his teeth.

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” Tricia replies, waving at them dismissively.  “Your dear friend Mr. Tomlinson made sure to offer my husband a wonderful amount of pounds to ensure we weren’t losing any money.”

Liam can’t help but gape at Louis, watching the way Louis brushes him off with a grin, cheeks flaring pink.  He didn’t expect that from Louis.  In fact, he didn’t expect any of this from Louis – the trip back to London, the calls he’s certain Louis made to get Eleanor there, Perrie too.  The way Louis was insistent even though Liam thought it was a ridiculous idea, especially since he’d only chatted with Zayn just enough times after leaving London to ensure Zayn didn’t forget him.  He knows he didn’t forget Zayn, thought about him daily to the point that half of his notebooks had Zayn’s name doodled somewhere on the pages, along the margins, in the corners where Louis saw while visiting them, making a face until Liam flipped him off.

But it wasn’t like he and Zayn were anything.  Just casual conversations over the phone, sometimes later than Liam wanted but he couldn’t ignore the buzz of his phone when he saw Zayn’s name on the caller ID.  The subtle texts in the morning, just a “hello” or “good morning” that Liam smiled at for hours, trying not to text back but his fingers itched and his heart dropped to his stomach when Zayn would text an hour later to say something else, making Liam feel like shit for even trying to ignore the fact that he wanted Zayn right there in front of him, hazel eyes that carried the weight of the world, or at least Liam’s world.

It was just a casual chat with Louis right before the holidays when he mentioned it: “Yeah, and Zayn’s birthday is in January.  I wonder what he’s doing for it?”

And then again, somewhere on Louis’ birthday, when they were all in Manchester this time passing around a bottle of expensive wine Louis’ parents got him with Harry sneaking kisses against Louis’ neck and Niall passed out near the fireplace of that way too expensive cabin Louis rented out for the weekend.  Liam just blurted it out, “I miss him.  I wonder what he’s doing,” and Louis was calling him sometime after New Year’s, something about chatting with El who happened to run into Zayn at the café.  He could almost feel the ideas forming in Louis’ head from the other side of the phone, rattling on about looking for a good reason to travel back to London besides seeing El and, quite possibly, looking for a good reason to get pissed for the weekend.

He just didn’t imagine Louis would do all of this, for Zayn, for _him_.  Best mate or not, Louis fucking Tomlinson was a beautiful person underneath all of the bullshit.  It’s a shame there’s a lot of layers of bullshit, Liam thinks with a grin.

Eleanor’s greeting all of them with a smile, hugging tightly onto Liam, ruffling Louis’ hair which was slicked back now with scruff all along his face, taking away some of that sophisticated look he’s marched around with for so long, that she teases him about.  She chews on her lip before hugging Harry, whispering something into his ear that has Harry blushing and dropping his eyes away from Louis.  Liam’s certain he’ll hear about it later but he doesn’t really pay much attention to Harry when Eleanor marches up to Niall, smacking his shoulder hard before digging her fingers into the front of his jumper, dragging him forward into a kiss that has Louis’ gaping and Harry whistling with a laugh.  And Niall’s stumbling back, cheeks red as Eleanor wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, winking at him before sauntering back to the pushed together tables in the center of the café.

“Did I miss something?” Louis asks, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at Niall.

“You’re so daft babe,” Harry chuckles, slinking behind Louis to press a quick kiss to his cheek, arms hugging around Louis from behind.

“I-I think I did too,” Niall stutters out.

“You boys,” Tricia giggles, eases by them before moving toward the back.

Eleanor cocks an eyebrow up at Niall, nods toward the chair next to her and Niall’s scrambling across the room to sit next to her, nearly breaking the chair as he drops into it, rocking back some to grin at Eleanor.

“Perr, what do we need a plate of limes for?  We don’t even serve limes on the menu.”

Liam feels his heart catch when Perrie pushes through the swinging doors, Zayn right behind her with a confused look striking his face.

It’s like a parade of music in his head when he looks at Zayn – _Hey, good morning_ – his breath hitching a little as his fingers wipe impatiently at his pants.

He hasn’t changed that much, his face stripped of that scruff until he looks worlds younger.  His hair is pulled up into that quiff, a little less product but it stands tall with the sides of his head shaven.  He’s got one of those black shirts with a band on it, Boston, like the ones Harry likes.  Those eyes, a bright olive this time, are wide with his eyebrows pushed upward.  His lips, the ones Liam’s thought about more times than he’s thought about having a good wank to the thought of sex with Zayn, are being pulled behind perfectly white teeth as he rubs at his forearm, the one scattered with various tattoos that Liam thinks about anytime he looks at his own.

The sound of Perrie’s giggle pulls him from his stare, pulling a deep exhale from his chest as Zayn takes small steps into the room.  He’s looking around weary, taking in the sight of Niall who’s waving happily with an arm strewn around Eleanor’s shoulders, then Louis and Harry who grin wildly like they’ve just won the prize of a lifetime, then Liam, feet stopping with even wider eyes.

“Surprise!” Louis calls out, Harry barking out a laugh.

“I think we got you the best birthday present,” Niall adds, manic laughter trailing his words, “like ever.”

“I agree mate,” Louis says with a nod.

Harry’s nodding too but Zayn’s not paying attention to any of them.  He’s sort of stuck there, glaring at Liam, and it’s then that Liam thinks maybe Louis’ ideas were sort of shit like he always thought.  Maybe Zayn didn’t want to see them, didn’t want to see _him_.  It’s not like they’d discussed visiting each other, not intentionally though Zayn had said a few things about wanting to come to where Liam was living now, possibly check out the University and Liam had said something about possibly driving up to London with his sisters and Martin for a weekend to celebrate Ruth’s birthday, but never to see each other.

Not even though Liam had considered the idea more times than he’d ever admit to anyone, let alone Zayn.

But then there’s something resembling a smile curling Zayn’s lips _– I don’t think I could be dreaming, I felt your touch. No, I remember you breathing when I woke up_ – his cheeks pushed up and there’s a crinkle to his eyes, a wrinkle to his nose that Liam clings to.  And they’re both walking, quick feet that seem unsteady with every step until they’re right there, together, Zayn’s hands on his face, Liam’s hands gripping his waist.

“I missed you,” Liam says quickly, tries not to regret the words because it feels like, Christ, they’ve been buried in him for far too long.

Zayn’s nodding, head leaning forward until his forehead is pressed to Liam’s.  His thumb runs along the stubble along Liam’s chin, grinning as he strokes it, tries to learn something new about Liam while Liam memorizes everything old about Zayn.

He takes a deep breath in, vanilla still hidden underneath the layer of smoke, letting Zayn nuzzle his nose to Liam’s for a brief moment before snorting.

“I don’t do this, you know?  ‘This thing’ that people do,” Zayn whispers, grinning.

Liam laughs, smiles back.  “Yeah.  Me neither.”

“Good,” Zayn says, exhaling another laugh.  “Because I don’t want you to get too attached when I tell you that I love you.”

Liam’s eyes go wide, pupils blown, his heart probably hanging off of his tonsils this time.  He swallows, well, he _tries_ to but he gets choked and Zayn’s biting on his bottom lip, waiting with eyes going a little dim.

“I love you too,” Liam chokes out, his voice hushed for just the two of them.

Zayn smiles softly – _Now all I have are these memories I can’t trust.  Just one day won’t be enough_ – thumb stroking patiently right along Liam’s cheekbone.

“Guess that means we’re both sort of doing this _‘thing,’_ yeah?” Zayn wonders with a snort.

Liam inches forward, presses the kiss his heart has been aching to capture for a little too long.  He kisses away that smile from Zayn’s lips, fingers digging helplessly into Zayn’s hip until he knows he’s left the shapes of his fingertips against Zayn’s skin.

“I always did,” Liam whispers when he pulls back, eyes still closed.  “I just wanted to do it with you and no one else.”

Zayn nods, cheeks a fevered rose color as he looks down, watches Liam’s lips.

Louis clears his throat loudly, clanking a fork along one of those fancy plates Tricia only put out for family.  Liam laughs, pulls back, wonders if that’s what this is now – _family_.

“I do believe we all are here to celebrate someone’s birthday?” Louis questions loudly, Harry already unscrewing the top of Louis’ bottle.  He does a less than graceful wave of his hand over the plate of limes Perrie brought out earlier, his worst impersonation of a game show host.  “And, since you asked, the limes are for the toast since most of you twats can’t handle your tequila.”

“Excuse me?” Perrie asks, arms folded over her chest.

“Ha, says the wanker who can’t hold his own,” Eleanor snorts, slapping at Louis’ hip.

“Like I was saying,” Louis hisses, glaring down at Eleanor with narrowed blue eyes before snapping his head back up, grinning toward Zayn and Liam who are barely apart from one another.  “We need to toast the birthday boy.”

Liam nods, chewing on his bottom lip until it feels raw.  He reaches down, settles his fingers into the spaces between Zayn’s, missing the way those thin fingers feel against his thick ones.  His heart is a drum beating loudly – _I want another day with you_ – when Zayn squeezes his hand, pulls Liam toward the table.

Harry’s already poured enough shots, sliding Louis two with a wink before raising his, Liam snatching one up from the table to join in.  Eleanor, Perrie, and Niall are soon following, Zayn sniffing at his and making a face at Louis.

“What?  I drove all the way to Mexico to get it,” Louis scoffs, lifting one of his glasses.

“You _drove?_ ” Zayn asks back, brow lowered with distrust.

“You can’t drive from England to Mexico, Lou,” Harry whispers but Louis’ already waving him off.

“Says who?” Louis snaps, snatching a lime from the plate.  “Do you know who I am?”

“The Tommo,” Liam, Niall, and Eleanor groan out simultaneously, Perrie giggling into her hand while Harry rolls his eyes.

“Exactly!”

“Can we just toast?” Harry asks with a groan, grabbing his own lime.

Eleanor licks the back of her hand, sprinkling some salt on it before delicately grabbing a lime, winking at Niall who merely shakes his head with a laugh.

Liam passes Zayn one before grabbing his own, Perrie’s lip curling when Harry offers her one.  Liam snorts, knows she’s more than badass enough to take a shot without any form of chaser.

“To Zayn Malik,” Louis starts, grin high on his lips, “May my best mate give him a better blowjob than all of the women in sweet ol’ London.  Let’s make today beautiful.”

Liam nearly chokes on his own shot, a loud ring of “Cheers!” from the others as they clink glasses, downing their shots with howls and squeals, Eleanor waving her hands once more dramatically while Harry shoots Louis a pinched face, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  Perrie shrugs, dropping her glass to the table while Zayn giggles into Liam’s neck, squeezing his hand tightly.  Liam ducks his head just enough to press a kiss to Zayn’s lips, tongue swiping over Zayn’s lips to taste the bitterness of the lime and sting of the tequila.  Zayn snickers against his lips, pushing in for another kiss and, yeah, Liam’s going to get used to this sensation that runs over him.

“I don’t know how I’ll deal with him when I start Uni with you in the fall,” Zayn sighs, lips still dancing against Liam’s.

“What?”

“Yes, the little shit is leaving me to be closer to you,” Perrie announces, pouring herself another shot.

Liam peeks past Zayn, glares at Louis because, no way, Louis wouldn’t know anything about this.

Except Louis’ grinning, leaning on Harry who’s ducking his head, pulling his fingers through his hair like he’s done something wrong but refuses to fess up.

“Now I won’t have an excuse to visit London,” Niall gripes, Eleanor swiftly elbowing him before he’s apologizing, peppering kisses to her cheek until she’s laughing and pushing him away.

Zayn giggles against Liam’s cheek, kissing the corner of his mouth until Liam’s turning into the kiss, refusing to question Zayn any further.  He doesn’t need to.  He’ll have plenty of time when Zayn’s resting in his arms later, looking for stars in Zayn’s face rather than the London skyline.

Leave it to Louis fucking Tomlinson to make sure his life was turned completely upside down with one toast and giving him, without question, the best weekend of his life.  Again.

**Author's Note:**

> That was't too terrible, was it? I hope not. Again, I had an idea and it all rolled from there. Feel free to drop me a note or something, let me know what you think. I'm grateful for any feedback I get and I'm truly thankful to you, whomever you are, for reading this story.


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